Regrettably
by dracoismyboyfriendguys
Summary: Regret is a funny thing. It never seems to leave you. Shelby placed Rachel for adoption with the Berry men when she had Rachel during high school, and is coming to terms with doing so when Rachel enters her classroom as a 14 year old student with some secrets and regrets of her own./ If anyone sees this, not abandoned and I'll update soon, I promise xo
1. Overture

The steady beat of Kanye West's 'Gold Digger' echoes through the basement studio as Shelby Corcoran leans over the ballet barre. She forces herself to breathe steadily- in through the nose and out through the mouth- while trickles of sweat stream down the sides of her face. When the pounds of her heart begin to return to a slower rhythm, she reaches across for the sweat towel and dries herself down. She grabs her phone, still lying in the cup holder of the treadmill and skips a couple of songs, eventually landing on some Ariana Grande. Unconsciously humming along softly, she opens the camera app to snap a picture of her workout stats.

It's not her best, but she didn't sleep well last night. Somehow, her double bed felt emptier than usual, not at all helped by the thumping bass coming from one of her neighbour's houses. She isn't quite sure who on her suburban street would have the time or inclination to throw a party on an October Wednesday night, but she didn't bother to call the police with a noise complaint. The flaming bag on her porch the last time she did that was a great deterrent.

Heading through the glass door into the rest of the basement that doubles as an office and music room, her phone vibrates with an incoming text.

_Morning, Sunshine. Hope cardio this morning was fun. Eat a good breakfast. -L _

A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips. She taps out her reply whilst climbing the spiral stairs back up to the ground floor, taking them two at a time and using this to stretch out her aching muscles.

_Afternoon, Hotstuff. Don't I always? -S _

Finally making it up the second flight of stairs and back into her bedroom, she slips off her sweaty workout gear and pads into the ensuite. She leaves the shower to run for a second and connects her phone to the bathroom speaker, setting her showering playlist to go.

Twenty-five minutes, shuffling into a pencil skirt, and a face of make-up later, Shelby holds a cup of frozen pineapple up to her eye-level. Deciding the measurement is right, she tips it into the blender, secures the lid and hits the 'start' button. Carole King blares through the speakers, barely audible over the roaring blender. She hopes last night's noisy neighbours can hear all this, it seems a shame to her to not keep the party going in the early morning.

She pours the green smoothie out the blender and sits it down on the counter next to her mug off coffee, fresh from the Keurig before snapping a picture. _Where You Lead_ begins to play and she sways her hips to the beat, carrying both cups round the counter to the breakfast bar where her laptop is already open and waiting. She flicks through her schedule for the day- nothing particularly special, but it's good to be prepared anyway- and alternates sips from both cups. Her eyes flicker away from the laptop screen only when her phone buzzes with another text.

_Coffee and a smoothie isn't a proper breakfast. -L_

She rolls her eyes, though they're sparkling with amusement, and sets her mug down so she can reply.

_Do you have my house bugged?- S_

She hasn't even closed the screen before three dots appear showing the imminent response.

_No you're just very predictable. Take a protein bar with you to work. -L _

Shelby smirks, thinking of the protein bar she's just put into her work purse.

_Yes, sir. Now don't you have anything better to do than to harass me about breakfast?- S_

_Nope- this lecture is very boring. The guy giving it isn't as cute as you. -L _

_You're lame. Focus. -S _

_Yes, Miss Corcoran. Have a good day at work. I'll call you after your appointment. -L_

_I'll answer. Love you. -S_

_Love you more. -L _

Shelby slides her phone back across the table with a small chuckle. Glancing back at her laptop screen, she sees she only has five minutes to pack her stuff and leave the house. She quickly chugs both the remaining smoothie and coffee, the combined taste in her mouth almost making her gag, before rushing back up the stairs to brush her teeth.

She arrives in her office next to Carmel's auditorium forty minutes later, holding another mug of coffee poured from the machine in the teacher's lounge. She would usually make herself one from the nicer machine in her own office, but she got roped in to a discussion about the upcoming AP literature exam with one of her fellow English teachers. Throwing her purse under her desk, she sips the bitter, but thankfully not completely atrocious coffee. As she's turning on her desktop to print out lesson plans for that morning, there's a knock on the door.

"Come in," she calls, not breaking her gaze from the screen.

The door opens to reveal a scowling Jesse St. James, backpack slung over his shoulder and sunglasses still on, despite the fact it was a little overcast that morning.

"Shelby," he says simply, slumping down into the chair on the other side of her desk. If either of them were being honest, it would basically just be known as Jesse's chair. He sat in it more than anyone else, often swinging by her office before homeroom or during the lunch hour. But Shelby doesn't much like acknowledging to herself that her closest friend at her place of work is a sullen, cocky sixteen-year-old.

"Morning, Jess," she says, still focussed on the computer. She glances over the plan she's made to discuss ideas of regret in _Frankenstein _with her juniors. Hopefully they'd be more coherent on this than when they'd tried to look at what constituted monstrosity last week and she'd had to send to of them out because they wouldn't stop making monster noises. She could dream. She hits print and hears the machine whir to life behind her. "What's up?" she asks, finally turning to address Jesse.

"Rehearsal was appalling yesterday," Jesse says.

Shelby scoffs. She knows it's not an attack from Jesse on her own teaching abilities, but she has to be a little exasperated at Jesse's constant need for perfection. It even rivals her own. "Right."

"You need to find a new female lead who can match my clearly superior vocal talent," he says without a hint of sarcasm.

"Want to magic one up for me?"

"I'm serious."

Shelby picks up her coffee mug and moves to the printer, watching as it churns out her handouts for class. "What's wrong with Andrea?"

"How long have you got?" Jesse says, cocking an eyebrow. He takes a deep breath, clearly about to start listing everything he finds insufferable about his female co-captain.

Shelby quickly raises a hand to stop him. "Put up with her for Invitationals and I'll see what I can do before Sectionals."

Jesse pauses, considering this. "Can I do the solo?"

"For sectionals?" she asks and Jesse nods in confirmation. "Only if you're super nice to me for the next month." She winks at him, which he returns by poking his tongue out. "Come on, or we're both going to be late to homeroom."

Shelby quickly gathers the handouts, tucking them under her arm, and ushers Jesse out of her office. Once she's locked the door behind them, they begin to walk back to the main area of the school. Jesse is talking a mile a minute about his ideas for his solo, while Shelby simply takes gulps of her coffee, nodding occasionally.

They reach his homeroom and she sends him on his way with a firm glare that says it's time to stop asking whether the VA budget can accommodate a crane which would suspend him above the audience. She smirks to herself once he's trudged into the classroom. That boy is really something else.

"Ah, Miss Corcoran. Just the woman I was hoping to see," a voice calls from behind her. She comes to a halt in the corridor and spins on her heel. It's James Weatherby, the assistant principal. Shelby's face immediately hardens, she's hated the man ever since he started working at Carmel two years ago. Or rather, has hated him from the minute he started hitting on her, which was about thirty seconds after he first walked into the teachers' lounge.

He must only be in his mid-forties, but he's already almost completely bald, with a pinkish head that usually glistens from sweat. Shelby can't even take it as a compliment that he's interested in her; it's too revolting to think about.

"James," she says curtly, ready to turn back around and carry on to her own classroom. She's found the best way to deal with him is just to ignore him. Hopefully he'll get bored soon. Although his persistence over the last couple of years would suggest otherwise.

"So we've had an emergency transfer," he says, walking towards her and very much invading her personal-space bubble. His pungent cologne floods her nostrils. "Freshman girl from McKinley. Family reasons."

"Okay," Shelby says slowly, she's not quite sure what this could have to do with her.

"I've arranged for her to be in your homeroom class. You know, because you're a welcoming and friendly member of the Carmel team," James says with a lewd smile.

Shelby resists the urge to roll her eyes. She's well-aware that that statement is pretty much the complete opposite of her reputation as a teacher. Not that she really cares, she produces results and her students respect her. She doesn't need to be 'welcoming'. James has to have done this simply to have an excuse to talk to her.

"That's fine," she says. She can deal with sorting out a transfer student. It won't throw her off too much if she moves the VA prep she was planning on doing in this period into the time when her sophomores are doing a quiz later instead. "I should get going."

James grins again and pats her arm gently. "Thanks, Miss C. Knew I could count on you."

Shelby nods and quickly strides away from the man. She might have to burn this blouse now. A shame, she really liked it.

She enters her classroom and the assembled group of freshmen all seem to jump a little. Usually she would be pissed that she got lumbered with this age group- too much drama. But the way she can basically call them to attention, strike fear into their hearts by just walking into the room never fails to bring a smile to her face.

"Morning, guys," she says, slipping into the office chair behind the desk and quickly starting the computer so she can take attendance.

"Hey, Miss C," a couple of the bolder ones call back to her.

Taking another sip of coffee, she casts a look around the room, trying to spot the unfamiliar face of the new transfer student. She doesn't see anyone she doesn't recognise. But then again, it's only the third week of school, most of these kids' faces are unfamiliar.

"Sophie? Can you come here a sec?" she calls, as the computer slowly chugs to life.

A blonde girl, sitting a couple of rows back immediately jumps to her feet and hurries towards the desk. She looks like she's racking her mind to think of anything she could have done to get on Miss C's bad side, clutching her hands nervously in front of her.

"Y-yes, Miss Corcoran?" she eventually stutters.

Shelby grins. Most of this intimidation will wear off over the next couple of weeks as they realise she's not actually as scary as the rumours suggest, but for now she relishes in it.

"I was wondering whether you'd be able to do me a favour?" she asks, and Sophie instantly relaxes a bit.

"Sure," she says.

Out of all the kids in her front of her, she trusts Sophie the most. Purely because she's proven herself talented and dedicated enough to earn a coveted spot on Vocal Adrenaline. Shelby only has a couple of freshmen in her squad each year, and they usually work their way through the ranks to become her leads when they're upperclassmen.

"We have a new transfer student joining us this morning. I was hoping that you'd be able to show her around a bit. Make her feel-," what were James's words? "- 'welcomed' and 'accommodated'."

"I can do that," Sophie says, nodding, clearly eager to please.

"Perfect, thanks. I assume she'll be here soon."

On cue, there's a tentative knock on the classroom door. Sophie turns, and blocks Shelby's view of the door for a second.

"Um- Miss Corcoran?" a soft voice says, just as Shelby scoots the office chair back, ready to flash a welcoming smile at the new student. "I'm Rachel Berry. I'm your- uh- transfer student."

Shelby swears she feels her heart stop dead in her chest for a minute. Rachel Berry, hovering in the doorway, in a blue sweater and a black and purple plaid skirt, has thrown a dagger straight into her chest. Shelby falls from her chair to the floor. The dagger-wound opens wide and her heart rolls right out of her ribcage and down into the space below the desk. Blood gushes rhythmically from her open wound, then from her eyes, her ears, her mouth. It tastes like salt and regret. The bright red shame of her past soaks the classroom floor, flooding between the desks and staining her students' shoes. Her heart spasms on the floor like a dying fish.

But, of course, none of that happens. To everyone else, all that happens is Shelby smacking her knee on her desk as she jumps suddenly to her feet. Nobody even notices that. Shelby stares at the girl for a second, or maybe it's longer, she isn't sure. She stares until Sophie coughs lightly, and she finally notices that both girls are looking at her with confused and expectant faces.

"Sorry," Shelby mutters quickly. She desperately swallows, trying to invite some saliva back into her completely dry mouth. She takes a shaky step forward and is surprised that her feet actually manage to carry her. "Sorry, yes. Hi."

"Hi," Rachel says quietly from the doorway.

Shelby tries to smile, but her lips get stuck on her dry teeth. "Come in, come in." Rachel hesitates for a second but steps inside. "Uh- this is Sophie," she says, pointing vaguely at the blonde girl, her eyes never leaving Rachel. "She'll show you around today."

"Hey," Sophie says warmly, waving at the girl.

Rachel smiles and nods her head.

The two girls exchange a few words but Shelby can't hear them. She can't hear anything except her own blood swirling around her head like a summer storm. This can't be happening. It just can't be.

Except it is. Because Shelby knows that she would recognise those big brown eyes anywhere. They've haunted her dreams for the last twelve years. Even the smile is the same. Bigger now, of course, toothier than the smile of the two-year-old toddler she used to hold in her arms. But it's the same.

Rachel Berry can't be standing in front of her.

But she is.

Her daughter is standing in front of her.

Shelby isn't sure whether she wants to run to the girl, to engulf her in a hug, to plant a thousand kisses on top of her shining brown hair, or whether she just wants to run.

"Miss Corcoran?"

Sophie's voice pulls her from her thoughts. It has a tone which suggests that this isn't the first time she's said Shelby's name.

"Hm- sorry," Shelby says again, turning to look at the girl. "What did you say?"

"I just asked whether you were going to take attendance."

"Right- attendance." She forces herself to walk back to the desk. Each step feels heavy, like she's walking through glue. She clicks the mouse a few times to wake the computer up and brings up the registration screen.

She glances back and sees Sophie walking Rachel to a spare desk. As she calls out the names, stumbling over Rachel's of course, she keeps looking back at them. It's as if she's expecting Rachel to disappear any moment. That, or she's going to wake up in her bedroom probably drenched in sweat and immediately schedule an extra therapy appointment to talk about her returning nightmares.

But instead she gets through the list of names, wishes her students a good day, and with one final look at her daughter, leaves the classroom and runs back to her office.

000

"Pick up, pick up, pick up," she hisses as she presses her phone to her ear, listening to the monotonous rings taunting her. She's sat on the floor, back up against her desk.

She'd quickly texted the teacher she'd spoken to earlier, who she knew had a planning period first, begging him to cover her first class citing a family emergency. Without bothering to check whether he'd replied in the affirmative, she immediately began dialling the familiar number. She'd had it ring out three times now, but she kept trying, knowing if she called enough he _had_ to pick up.

"Shelbs?" She heaves a sigh of relief as his voice finally comes through the speaker. "Honey, I'm at work."

"I know, I'm sorry," she says shakily, trying to get her breathing back under control.

"What's happening, baby?"

"Luke," she chokes out as a sob finally breaks through and tears start falling down her cheeks.

"Shelby? What's wrong?" Luke asks. She can hear footsteps and a wave of guilt washes over her knowing that he's probably having to dip out of whatever conference hall he's in to speak to her. This only makes her cry more.

"Luke," she repeats, "it's Rachel."

"What?" The footsteps stop. "Shelby, is she okay?"

"She's here."

"Rachel's there? At Carmel?"

"Yeah," Shelby sobs. She takes a ragged breath. "She just walked right into my homeroom."

"Oh, Shelbs," Luke says softly. "Did you speak to her? Does she…" He trails off but Shelby can tell what he was going to ask. And the answer is enough to send a fresh wave of tears spilling down her cheeks.

"No, she doesn't. She doesn't have a fucking clue who I am."

"Oh, Shelbs," he says again.

As Shelby cries, she begins to bite the skin around her fingers, a nervous habit she's had since she was little. The stinging pain is oddly soothing, grounding her back in reality, however awful that may be right now.

"What do I do?" she whispers. She knows her boyfriend won't have all the answers, but she certainly doesn't have them, and she needs help right now. For once, she doesn't want to be in control, she just wants someone to tell her exactly how the hell she's supposed to pick herself up off this office floor and carry on with her day. With her life.

"I-," Luke falters. "I'm so sorry, Shelby, I wish I could be there."

"It's okay," she says.

"It's really not," he tells her. A beat goes by where no one speaks, they both just listen to the other breathe. "Look, I'll go and tell them that I need out, that I need to come home as soon as possible."

"No," Shelby says, finding a sudden strength to her voice. "You can't jump on a plane from London just cause I'm upset. They need you there, you're lecturing all week."

"I- I'll see what I can do. Maybe try and rearrange some things." Shelby nods even though he can't see her, and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, black streaks of wet mascara transferring to it. "Do you need to go home for the day?"

Shelby lets out a bitter laugh. "I can't. I have classes all day, then rehearsal."

Luke sighs at her stubbornness, at her inability to ever put herself first. "Shelbs, no one's going to judge you if you need to take the day off for personal reasons."

"And what do I go and tell them at the office?" she snaps. "_'Oh, I'm so sorry everyone, but the daughter I had at sixteen and haven't seen since she was two just waltzed into my classroom and now I'm having an emotional breakdown. See you tomorrow!'_ I can't do that, Luke!"

"I know, I'm sorry," he says quietly.

Shelby feels the ripple of guilt again. "No," she sighs, "I am. It's just a lot, you know?"

"I know, baby," he confirms sadly.

"And I can't run away because then she'll just be there tomorrow and I'll be doing this all over again." She crumples at the realisation that this isn't just a sudden wave of pain, that this is something she can't just run away from. "_Fuck,_" she hisses, slamming her head back against the desk.

"Shelby, baby, you need to try to stay calm, okay?" Luke's soft voice tells her.

"Okay," she parrots, though calm is the last emotion she feels right now. She takes another deep breath and reaches a hand back to rub away the stinging sensation in the back of her head. She's glad Luke can't see her right now. As pathetic as she sounds, she's sure she probably looks ten times worse. A glance at her blurry reflection in the glass window on her office door confirms this. She stands and walks towards it, using it as a mirror. With the phone still against her ear, she wipes away the makeup from under her eyes and tucks her long hair back behind her ears. "Okay," she says again.

She hears muffled voices on the other end of the phone.

"I'm so sorry, Shelbs, they're asking for me back in there."

"It's okay, you go. I need to go get to my second period class anyways."

"Are you sure? Are you going to be okay?"

No.

"Yes." She stands up straighter and begins to reach for her purse so she can fix her appearance properly. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Okay, I love you so much. Call if you need me. I'll tell them I have an emergency."

"I will," she promises, though she isn't sure she'll keep it. "I love you too."

"Bye, baby."

"Bye."

As soon as the phone line goes dead, a fresh wave of tears hits her. She can't remember the last time she cried this much, but she knows the reason. It's always the same reason.

For the second time that day, Shelby Corcoran leans over, gasping for breath and wiping desperately at her face. She allows herself a few more seconds to wallow before forcing herself up. She gets ready quickly and faces the office door. As much as she might want to stay in here, hiding from everyone, hiding from herself and her own stupid regrets, she can't. She knows she has no choice but to go back outside and confront them.

* * *

_**A/N- Hello! Welcome to the first chapter of 'Regrettably'! So I guess this could be considered a prologue of sorts, but I hope you enjoyed! This story will be from both Shelby and Rachel's perspectives but admittedly I'm leaning on the Shelby side of things at the moment. The last part of The Dividing Gulf will be up soon, but I just couldn't wait to get started with this one, a lot of which is prewritten so expect some speedy updates. Please review- I would love to know what you thought! **_


	2. I'm Breaking Down

_**A/N: Hi everyone, just wanted to say a massive thank you for the response to the first chapter- it made me so happy! And I promised a quick update, so here you go! This one is long too. And just to explain, each chapter will be named after a Broadway show-tune- I think both Shelby and Rachel would approve, don't you? So without further ado, here is Chapter 2: I'm Breaking Down. **_

* * *

The stench of cheap disinfectant fills Rachel's nostrils as she leans her head back on the toilet cubicle door. Even so, she thinks, it's probably hideously unhygienic in here. Maybe not so much as the toilets at McKinley were; everything she's seen at Carmel so far has seemed somewhat superior to her last school. But even so, she knows that sitting on a bathroom floor probably isn't the best thing to be doing.

She just doesn't quite know where else to go.

Her first two periods were easy: Sophie, the girl from her homeroom, was in her classes and escorted her to them, even choosing to sit by her - much to Rachel's surprise. But then she checked her new schedule again and saw that she had a free period now. She isn't used to this. They didn't have free periods at her middle school, and at McKinley they'd been supervised by a teacher, clearly not trusting the kids to be alone. Here, however, Sophie had informed her that most people just went to the library to catch up on homework or found somewhere to hang out with their friends.

Rachel didn't have homework or friends. So, instead, she'd headed to the bathroom, collapsed onto the floor and brought her knees up to her chest, wishing, for perhaps the hundredth time that morning, that she was back at McKinley.

She picks at a loose thread on her skirt, wrapping it tightly round her finger and then unwinding it again after she counts to ten. She loses track of exactly how many times she's done this, but hopes that it's helped to pass the time. When she checks her watch, she sees that only four minutes have passed.

She lets out a prolonged sigh as she tries to come up with another game to keep herself occupied- her finger is rather sore now after all.

The checked pattern on the front of her skirt repeats fifty-six times. From where she's sitting in the cubicle, she can count seventeen square ceiling tiles. Three people have come in to use the bathroom. One didn't wash her hands.

Only seven more minutes have passed.

The backs of Rachel's thighs have gone numb from where her skirt has ridden up leaving them pressed bare against the cold linoleum floor. Dragging herself to her feet, she jumps up and down a few times to try and regain some feeling in them. Her mary-janes clack loudly and the noise reverberates around the deserted bathroom. She's never felt so alone.

She's not sure what the policy is about wandering the hallways during her free-period. She'd heard a couple of kids from her last period class asking their friends to sign them in to the library and then state that they were heading to an empty math classroom instead. Maybe she's supposed to have signed in somewhere; no one in the world would be able to say exactly where Rachel Berry is right now.

Still, she thinks, surely she can just plead ignorance if someone catches her. There's got to be some benefits to being dumped in a new school in the middle of a semester. Her homeroom teacher this morning hadn't exactly been very helpful either. Sophie had told her that she thought maybe Miss Corcoran had just come up with some new idea for their glee club and couldn't focus on anything else; apparently she wasn't ever usually so distracted.

Rachel takes a deep breath before she opens the stall door, straightening her posture and thinking of what her dads would say were they here right now. _"Fake it till you make it, Star."_ She sets her shoulders back, adjusts her headband and steps out ready to face the world. Or, at least, the halls of Carmel High.

As she strides down the hallways, she has absolutely no idea what part of the school she's in. She's not about to whip out the map they handed her at the front desk this morning, though. That seems like a sure-fire way to give the impression to anyone who may see her that she's lost and clueless. She _is_ lost and clueless, but no one else needs to know that. Out of the corner of her eye, she glances into the various classrooms she passes: most are occupied and the sounds of intermittent droning teachers blend into one symphony of public school boredom.

While she's looking surreptitiously around, making sure no one's watching her so she can just double-back on herself and head back to the bathroom now she's stretched her legs a little, her gaze falls into an empty room with the door propped open. Her legs seem to stop of their own accord and she stumbles over her own feet at the sudden loss of momentum.

Inside the room, centred almost, is a striking black grand piano. Illuminated only by the low-watt institutional lighting from the hallway, the shiny black surface and awaiting ivories glow as if lit by a spotlight. Something about this image tugs at Rachel like a magnet and she unconsciously drifts towards the instrument.

Once in the doorway, she chances a glance back at the corridor and, finding it still deserted, slips inside the room. She pulls the door closed behind her with a gentle click and finds the light-switch on the wall. The dim yellow glow fills Rachel with a sense of warmth she hasn't felt for a while, definitely not since the events of the last week transpired, and she suddenly becomes acutely aware of her fingers. They tingle with anticipation as she steps up to the piano, drifting them longingly across the awaiting keys.

She isn't stupid. She knows that banging out a tune on an instrument of this magnitude will surely attract some unwelcome attention, but there's a longing, a hunger inside her that urges her onward. After staring, transfixed, for a few seconds, she braves pressing a finger down on middle C. The crystal clear note pierces the room and she jumps slightly, startled by its intrusion on the deafening silence.

"It won't bite, you know," a voice calls out to her. If she flinched before, this time she's certain her heart literally leaps up into her throat in shock. A soft chuckle follows as Rachel snaps her head up and spots a figure lying face-up on the chairs tilted towards the piano.

The boy sits up, a smug smile tracing his lips, as he pushes the sunglasses off his face and into his mop of curly hair. His eyes bore into her and she jerks her finger away from the piano- the note coming to an abrupt end.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammers, pinning her arms to her sides. "I didn't realise anyone was in here."

"I gathered that much," the boy says. He stands quickly and moves to her side. Shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath, he presses his finger onto the key her own just vacated. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"I- yeah," she concedes. Her stomach squirms as she watches his whole body settle into the note. She has absolutely no idea who he is, or whether she's about to be in serious trouble for just wandering in here and playing the piano. Getting detention for being out of place or sent to the principal is seriously _not _on her to-do list for today.

"I'm sorry," she says again, backing away slightly. "I know I'm probably not supposed to be in here."

The boy turns his head over his shoulder and stares again though his hand stays firmly on the piano key, the last embers of the note beginning to slowly fade away. When silence eventually comes again, he breaks it. "I technically shouldn't be in here either. But I don't see anyone around to tell us otherwise. Do you?"

As if she's expecting this to be some kind of trick, Rachel automatically looks towards the doorway which remains stoically empty. "I suppose not." The boy chuckles again, lowers the piano lid gently and perches upon it.

Rachel's heart flutters a little at his confident demeanour. She chalks it up to her lingering nerves that a teacher may burst into the room at any moment. "What were you doing in here anyway?" she asks, breaking the eye contact to peer back at the seats he was lounging on.

"Meditating," the boy replies casually. "Does wonders to clear the mind and help me hone in on the truly important things."

"Oh." It's all she can think to say.

"I saw the way you were looking at the piano," he says wistfully, as if she hadn't spoken at all. "The longing looks, the hunger to create music. Reminds me of a young Jesse St. James."

"Who's Jesse St. James?" Rachel asks. She has, of course, already mentally scanned through her copious mental lists of Broadway stars and can't recall the name.

Another smug chuckle. "You're new around here, aren't you?"

She feels her cheeks warm at her obvious transparency and scuffs her shoe across the floor uneasily. "Yes. It's my first day. I transferred from McKinley."

"At this point in the semester? Why?" the boy asks with a frown.

Rachel bites her lip as her heart-rate picks up. "Family reasons," she mutters, hoping the boy will take the hint.

The boy shrugs. "Well, allow me to introduce myself," he says, extending a hand to her. "I'm Jesse. Jesse St. James."

Smiling shyly up at him, although slightly bewildered, she returns the handshake. His broad hand easily encompasses her smaller one. She can only _imagine_ the things that boy can do with those fingers: the effortless dancing across piano keys or chords deftly formed on a guitar.

"And do you have a name?" he prompts, still clasping her hand.

"I'm Rachel," she supplies quickly. "Rachel Barbra Berry."

"Welcome to Carmel, Rachel Barbra Berry," he says. He adjusts slightly and uses his hand to guide her back to the piano. "You play, I assume?"

"A little," she says, remembering days when she would rush home from school and launch herself towards the upright in her living room, determined to perfect whatever sheet music she had picked up that weekend. She shakes her head to clear the unwanted thoughts away. "Not properly for a while."

Jesse lays her hand tenderly across the lid, and moving as one, they lift it, revealing the keys again. "Well we wouldn't want you getting rusty." Rachel frowns at him. "Want to take her for a spin?"

"Now?" she asks, her eyes flicking once more towards the door. She's long lost track of the time too, any moment the bell could ring and she has absolutely no idea how to get to the biology labs from here. "I- I don't know."

"Nervous?" he counters. His tone is gentle, but filled with an air of easy superiority. "I remember when I used to get nervous."

Something flickers in Rachel: a fighting spirit. Sure, she's spent the last few weeks single-handedly putting a new glee club into motion at McKinley, but nobody there really made her fight for it. Not hard. And when she really did have to fight, she found she couldn't.

Now, however, as Jesse gazes down at her, she feels that fire rekindle inside her. The Rachel Barbra Berry unwilling to walk away from a challenge is back.

"No," she says finally, determined. "Do you have a song in mind?"

"Have you heard of 'Hello' by an artist known as Lionel Richie?"

Rachel scoffs. "Heard of it? It's no Barbra but I could sing it in my sleep."

"I like the way you talk, Rachel Barbra Berry," Jesse grins. He pulls out the piano bench and sits on the right half of it, tapping the left for Rachel to take up. "Follow my chord progression on C4."

Rachel quickly complies. Her fingers work stiffly at first, but as Jesse demonstrates, she relaxes into the position and they begin to flow naturally between the chords. Once she's got it down, Jesse clears his throat slightly and begins to sing.

"_I've been alone with you inside my mind, and in my dreams I've kissed your lips a thousand times."_

Rachel's nerves seem to ebb away as her piano playing merges perfectly with Jesse's smooth voice. He looks deep into her eyes while he sings and she swears she can feel her heartbeat fall in time with the music. By the time he reaches the chorus, she joins her own voice with his, creating the perfect harmony.

They play out the song together and for Rachel time appears to both freeze and speed by. She blinks, and Jesse's tinkling out the last few notes. As the music dies away, they unwittingly lean in towards each other, eye contact never breaking.

Suddenly the bell rings out sharply from the hallway and they leap apart as if compelled by an electric current. Rachel feels a rush of heat leave her body, swiftly jumping to her feet and scurrying towards the door.

"I've got to go," she says quickly. "I have to find my way to biology."

"Wait- Rachel!" Jesse calls from the piano bench. She spins back around to face him expectantly. "You're talented." A smile she didn't give permission for creeps onto her face. "You lack the technical depth of someone with recent vocal training, but you're talented. You need to come to Vocal Adrenaline rehearsal later- after school, in the auditorium."

"Vocal Adrenaline?" Rachel says with a frown. That's the glee club Sophie was telling her about earlier. The extremely intense and competitive glee club. "Don't you have to audition to get in?"

"You just did," he tells her.

"But- isn't Miss Corcoran the director?"

Jesse cocks his head. "Let's just say as team captain, I have a lot of say. And I happen to know we're in the market for a new female lead."

"I'm only a freshman," Rachel says softly. Even in the mere weeks she had been setting up the New Directions, it was made clear to her that her organisation of the club and undeniable vocal talent, if she does say so herself, were undermined by her age.

"And I'm a junior," Jesse says simply. "Just think, we have two years of combining our talent to become unstoppable."

Despite herself, Rachel grins broadly. "I guess I'll see you later then, Jesse." She pauses for a second, thinking of Sophie's words from earlier. "Will you- will you just check with Miss Corcoran, though? I really can't be in trouble right now."

Jesse waves a hand dismissively. "I'll inform her of the situation. I'm sure she'll be thrilled with my scouting."

"Okay, then. See you later."

"Bye for now, Rachel Barbra Berry," Jesse says as she flashes him one last grin and disappears out the door.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, glancing at the time. There doesn't seem much point in heading into his double period of world geography halfway through, so instead he lowers his sunglasses onto his face and heads back to the chairs. He'll meditate on exactly how best to present the good news to Shelby for a little while before he goes to find her.

000

Shelby Corcoran is having a staring competition with a spot on her classroom wall and, naturally, is winning. Her steely eyes drift in and out of focus and, when she finally blinks, moisture she hadn't even noticed accumulating gathers in her eyelashes. Quickly, she wipes a finger under each eye, catching it before it can fall. She doesn't need anyone thinking she's crying in the middle of class.

She scans the room, watching her sophomores diligently writing their timed essays on symbolism in 'Of Mice and Men'. Aside from her own, steady breaths, the only sound is the scratching of pencils on paper, and an occasional sigh as someone struggles to get their thoughts together.

Shelby can relate. Her own thoughts seem to be swimming around her brain like they're caught in a riptide and she can never hold on to them long enough to begin to make any sense of them. Her gaze finally falls on the red backpack of a girl sitting in the front row and she takes up another staring competition.

She loses when her focus is pulled to the door by a rapid and loud knocking. Seeing Jesse grinning wildly at her through the glass pane, she rolls her eyes.

"Keep going," she says quietly but firmly to her students. "And don't even think about cheating, because I'll know."

She's sure she hears someone stifle a groan as she quickly strides towards the door. She shuts it nearly all the way behind her, but leaves a small gap so she can still hear what's going on in the classroom. Surely no one would be stupid enough to try to disobey her, but then again, they are high school students.

"I'm teaching," she tells Jesse, raising an eyebrow.

"No. You were staring at the floor. I watched."

"Creep."

Jesse huffs, but he's still smiling maniacally. "I come as the bearer of good news."

"Like my own personal angel Gabriel," she deadpans.

"Exactly!"

"I'm Jewish."

Jesse scowls. "Whatever. You're going to want to hear this."

Shelby folds her arms over her chest and shoots him an expectant look. She won't admit it to the boy, but she feels a little relieved that he might have something to break up her incessantly swirling thoughts. She needs something good to be happening right now and maybe Jesse is the one who can grant her a reprieve. "Yes?"

"I've found myself a new female lead," he says after allowing a dramatic pause.

"Yourself?"

"Okay fine- you can share her too." Shelby lets out an exasperated sigh, but has to bite her lip to stop a small smile at Jesse's theatrics. "She's incredible, Shelby. And young too. I know you like to start them young."

"Please don't make me sound like a predator, Jess," she quickly interjects. She has already, on more than one occasion, encountered vicious rumours about herself and Jesse. She shut those down through the irrepressible gag she let out when she heard about them in the teachers' lounge. "I already scouted out the talented freshman."

"Ah, I know," Jesse says, with an exaggerated nod. "But-," he lifts a finger for dramatic effect, "-she's only just transferred here. She's literally fresh meat, Shelby."

She feels like he's taken a bucket of iced water and dumped it over her head. That, or slapped her in the face. Her stomach lurches and it takes everything in her not to bend over and throw up the stupid smoothie and coffee combo she drank that morning. She shudders at the thought of her daughter being referred to as 'fresh meat'. So much for Jesse offering a reprieve.

"R-rachel?" she finally whispers, praying to God or Buddha or whoever that there's another freshman who has transferred this morning. It's fruitless.

"Rachel Barbra Berry," Jesse confirms. He's still grinning smugly, apparently missing all of Shelby's clear discomfort. "Wait- you already know about her?"

"She's -." Shelby cuts herself off just in time. "She's in my homeroom class."

"Oh," Jesse says, unfazed. "Well, I got her singing in the choir room just now and she's _amazing, _Shelby. I told her to come along to rehearsal later."

Shelby pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration. "You _what_?" It's all too much. Not only is her daughter there, being dangled in front of her nose like Shelby's some kind of under-performing donkey, but Jesse St. James has somehow _already_ got to her? He already knows her middle name?

Her legs suddenly feel weak beneath her and, with a glance back into the still silent classroom, she pulls the door fully shut so she can lean back on it. Again, Jesse apparently doesn't notice how rattled she's become. Maybe all those acting classes really did pay off. Or maybe he's too self-absorbed in his own perceived accomplishments.

"So there I was, meditating in the choir room- I had a lot to think about this morning. Did you know that they're doing an off-Broadway revival of _Jekyll and Hyde_? I just can't picture who's going to be in it." Shelby glares at him, silently telling him to get back on track. "Right, so I was in there by myself when suddenly this girl comes in looking at the piano like- like it's an oasis in the desert, like it's the last source of oxygen in a world crumbling from a nuclear bomb. And I could just tell that there was something special about her. I think I have an eye for it, you know. To cut a long story short, we sang together, she's amazing if a little undertrained and self-conscious- nothing you can't fix by the way- and I've decided that she's the one to be my new female lead."

He finishes with a curt nod, as if he's just delivered a Shakespearian soliloquy.

Shelby just stares at him for a few seconds, entirely unsure of what to say. She thinks maybe if she begins to speak, then everything will just start tumbling out. As much as she likes Jesse, though he's really pushing it by singing a duet with her fourteen-year-old daughter, she can't do that. She refuses to cut herself open and let the secrets of her past spill out of her. Not here in this high school hallway while her class takes a test mere feet away. Maybe not ever.

She can feel them, her secrets, her regrets, her fears, bubbling up inside of though. They seep out in the beads of sweat collecting on her forehead and shaking palms, and the bile rising in her throat.

With a sharp intake of breath, she dusts her hands off on her pencil skirt before running one quickly through her hair.

"You were supposed to be in class. Wasn't Rachel supposed to be in class? Wait- aren't you _still _meant to be in class?"

"I-." Jesse falters and frowns at her. This clearly is not the reaction he was expecting to his good news. "I think Rachel had a free period- she seemed pretty uptight about getting to biology as soon as the bell rang."

The thought that at least her daughter isn't some kind of skipping delinquent flits briefly through Shelby's head. Then she realises Jesse still hasn't explained himself.

"And you?"

"I told you, I had a lot on my mind. World geography just wasn't the place to think that through."

"Jesse, you can't skip class. How many times have we had this discussion?" she asks tiredly.

"_Shelby,_" he counters with a whinge. "This is important! I thought you'd be happier that I've done us both a favour and found a new lead."

"A favour?" she snaps sarcastically before she can stop herself.

She regrets it when she sees the flicker of hurt cross his features. It's not his fault, she reminds herself. He has absolutely no idea what he's getting himself into with this. In fact, he's just doing what the two of them have always done: putting Vocal Adrenaline above all else, consequences be damned. It's the very reason why she can't just brush the issue aside and tell Jesse that Rachel can't come to rehearsal today. How can she say that to the boy who drove three hours across the state with her once to go convince a girl from Columbus she'd seen performing on Youtube that she shouldn't go to a performing arts school in New York, but should instead come to Carmel and join their team? It wouldn't make sense.

"Sorry," she says quietly. "Fine, okay, bring her to rehearsal and let her observe for the day."

Jesse grins broadly again. "You're not going to regret this, I promise."

Don't make promises you can't keep, Mr St. James, she thinks.

"Go to class, Jesse."

"There's only like ten minutes left before lunch," he whinges, widening his eyes in the hopes of garnering some sympathy. It doesn't work on Shelby, it never has.

"Ten minutes of valuable learning time."

"You know," he says thoughtfully, "I'm probably going to be in trouble for skipping it thus far. My teacher might even give me a detention resulting in my absence from rehearsal later. Now wouldn't that be tragic?"

"Very tragic," she says cooly. She heaves herself up off the door, enters the room and heads back to her desk. Rifling quickly through the top drawer, she pulls out her book of yellow authorised absence slips, already rather depleted from Jesse's abuse of them, and quickly fills one out. She thrusts it into Jesse's awaiting hands with a mock-glare.

He simply smiles sweetly. "You are the best teacher in this whole school, you know that?"

"And you are probably the worst pupil. Go. To. Class." She punctuates each word with a prod at Jesse's shoulder which he begins to rub at over-dramatically. "Go. Learn something. Fill that giant head of yours with some knowledge."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, saluting her before scuttling off down the hallway.

Shelby leans back on the doorframe for a second, trying and failing to gather herself. How the hell did she get here? She sighs before stepping back into the classroom and looking at the clock on the wall.

"Ten minutes left, guys," she says, eliciting several panicked groans from her students. Sadistically, it's music to her ears.

000

The rest of the school day seems to fly by like a time-lapse. Shelby stays behind her desk in her classroom as various groups of students come and go, barely making an impression on her. At lunch, Luke texts her, reminding her to eat something more substantial than the protein bar. The bar remains untouched in her purse pocket as she assures him she will before shooting a text to Jesse asking him to bring her a fresh mug of coffee. She captures a picture of it and slugs it down in one.

She can't bring herself to eat, knowing if she does, she'll simply have to factor in a trip to the bathroom to spew it back up. Throwing up at work is never a good look, she learned that the hard way after too many mid-week nights out in her mid-twenties. Though she may be at the very start of this decade, she'd promised herself to never repeat that in her thirties. So she doesn't eat.

She doesn't feel hungry. In fact, she doesn't feel much of anything. As opposed to that morning when all her emotions raged like fire within her, blistering every inch of her skin from the inside out, now she just feels numb.

Even when she has a free period that afternoon, she doesn't dare make the trip back to her office or the teachers' lounge. Rachel is somewhere in this building and that is knowledge enough to make her cower in the safety of her classroom. Not for the first time in her life, probably not even for the thousandth time, she curses herself for being so pathetic, such a coward. The worst part of it is realising that even when she manages to make it through the rest of the day without leaving this room, she then has to go to rehearsal where she is _guaranteed _to see Rachel, to interact with Rachel.

Her last period AP lit students must think it's their lucky day when, instead of encouraging rigorous discussions of Shakespeare, she simply puts on a DVD of a production of _Hamlet_. She knows none of them are paying attention, that a few are doing homework for other classes or texting under the desks, but she can't bring herself to care. Her focus is instead on the clock on the wall across from her desk, watching as the second-hand dutifully makes it's laps round and round, taunting her with every tick that the moment of judgment is getting closer and closer.

Still, when the bell finally rings, and the kids immediately jump up from their desks and away from this scarily sombre version of Miss Corcoran, Shelby flinches.

"Be ready to present on a sonnet of your choice on Monday, everyone," she calls out over the scraping of chairs.

"Can we work in-" one boy begins to ask.

"Individual presentations only. Check your syllabus," she says, ignoring the disgruntled mutters.

Every click of her stilettos against the tiled floors sounds to her like the steady beat of a funeral march. She's sluggish as she drags herself to the auditorium, yet equally feels like she could turn at any moment and run a marathon in the opposite direction. Uphill. Wearing these stupidly uncomfortable heels.

But she knows if she did, she would immediately turn back around and run the same marathon again to catch just one more glimpse of her daughter's face.

The duplicity is too much for her. _To be or not to be_: a spineless coward, even more of a failure as both teacher and mother. She would trade places with Hamlet in a heartbeat; the prince of Denmark has nothing on the tragedy of Shelby Corcoran.

But when she finally reaches the heavy swinging doors to the auditorium, she does as Shelby Corcoran has done everyday of her thirty years on this earth, she squashes her feelings down inside her as much as she can and forces herself onwards.

It's completely empty. Not that she was expecting anything to the contrary. Her kids always take a ridiculously long time switching into their rehearsal sweats in the adjoining changing rooms, and she can only presume that _her kid_ is right there along with them.

She slips down into the director's table, located dead centre in the first block of seats, and pulls out her notebook and the sheet music she'll need for today. When she chose Amy Winehouse's _Rehab_ for their invitationals set-list, she didn't expect the lyrics to come across so gloatingly.

Just go, Amy, she thinks as she scowls down at the paper, just go and hit pause on life for ten weeks. God knows she wishes she could do just that. Then again, when it was her, she seems to remember putting up a similar fight.

She shakes her head as she turns her attention to making sure her microphone is set up properly. Nope, she is most definitely not going to let her thoughts go _there_ right now. One past personal crisis at a time.

"Miss C?"

She looks up at Jesse's voice, and immediately regrets it. Because right there next to him, climbing up the side stairs of her auditorium, is Rachel. Shelby's stomach, which must be where the squashed down feelings have taken up residence, contorts, and she tries to plaster on a show face. If only the New York directors could see her now.

"Hi Jesse, Rachel," she says. She swallows several times as they approach her, willing the lump in her throat to disappear off down her esophagus. What would she say if Rachel was any other student? "Did you have a good first day?"

Rachel, whose eyes Shelby is refusing to meet, gives a little shrug and smoothes out the non-existent creases in her skirt. "It was fine," she says shyly. "Carmel's a lot bigger than McKinley, but I suppose I'll get used to it once I find my bearings."

Jesse gives her a playful push, much to Shelby's displeasure. "Don't worry. I'll show you the ropes, just stick with me."

"He's a terrible influence. Ignore absolutely everything that comes out of Jesse's mouth, Rach." Her hand immediately flies to her mouth as the nickname slips out. She quickly tries to cover it as a cough, and when she chances a peek back up at Jesse and Rachel, they're both giggling to each other.

"Now it's going to be the two of you ganging up on me, isn't it?" Jesse moans.

"Naturally," Rachel quips back with a small grin.

A momentary burst of pride dances through Shelby. She firmly tells it to stay put with the rest of her emotions. If anything, that's the one she doesn't deserve to feel. At least the guilt and pain are entirely justifiable.

"Rachel, stay here," Jesse says, "I'm going to go wrangle the troops." To Shelby's horror, he points the girl to the seat right next to her. "I know Miss C looks big and scary but she's actually alright if you avoid direct eye contact and don't make any threatening movements."

"Har har," Shelby says dryly. Little does he know that the small fourteen-year-old is really her own personal apex predator. "Off you go, sergeant. Tell everyone I want them onstage to do a vocal run-through of 'Rehab'."

Yet again, Jesse gives her a mock salute, accompanied this time by a little bow which elicits a giggle from Rachel, before he disappears back down the stairs. Rachel takes her seat next to the desk.

It's silent for a moment.

So silent.

Shelby shifts some papers on her desk. Then she shifts them back. They were in the correct position the first time.

"So have you been-"

"Thanks for letting-."

They both start to talk simultaneously, and then let out an uneasy chuckle. For a split second, Shelby finds herself looking into those big, brown eyes and instantly blinks to avoid it. There's too much in there.

"Sorry," she says, returning her gaze to the still empty stage. "Go on."

"I was just going to say thank you for allowing me to sit in on this rehearsal. From what Sophie told me earlier, it seems that your team has a very meticulous audition schedule, so I'm grateful for this opportunity." Rachel speaks quickly, as though she thinks she might be interrupted again.

It takes a second for Shelby to process exactly what she's said. "That's okay. You made quite the impression on Jesse earlier."

Rachel gasps, causing Shelby to look back at her involuntarily. "I did?" she says, voice full of awe.

It's so innocent, so sweet that for a moment Shelby forgets that it's not the little toddler in front of her. "You did." She clears her throat as the pain in her chest becomes too much. "Though in the future please make sure you're in the library or with a teacher during your free periods."

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't know," she says quietly, her face falling.

Great, Shelby. Two minutes in and you've already upset your kid. "Hey- no," she says, turning to face her, "it's my fault. I should have explained the protocol earlier."

Rachel nods.

Before either can speak again, the familiar rumbling of rambunctious theatre kids approaching the stage fills Shelby's ears and she immediately tries to settle herself into coach-mode. Although, with Rachel sitting right next to her, she's not sure how well that's going to go.

She has them run through specific sections of the music over and over, fine-tuning harmonies, correcting placement of vibrato and trying to stop Ellen, a soprano junior, from adding her own riffs in the middle of the chorus. '_I'm sorry. Are we airing midday on NBC? This is not _The Ellen Show_ so please, for the love of God, stop trying to draw so much attention to yourself!'._

After they stumble over the key-change for the third time in a row, Shelby leans into the microphone and shouts for them to stop, take a break, and swallow a spoonful of honey before getting back on her stage. "And guys," she calls as they begin to disperse, "when you come back please remember that you're not _actually_ all a bunch of drunks, so you can stop singing like it. Annunciate, people!"

She leans back in her chair, massaging her temples. A look at her phone tells her she only has thirty minutes left before she can kick them all out and hopefully take something to get rid of this pounding headache.

"Wow," Rachel says softly, and Shelby whips round. So caught up in her team's inability to comprehend a four-part harmony, she'd almost forgotten Rachel was there. "They're amazing. _You're _amazing."

Shelby can't help but smile at that. Her daughter thought she was amazing. Well, her daughter thought Coach Corcoran was amazing, but she'd take it for now.

"Thanks, I'm sure you won't be saying that once it's you up there being screamed at."

Rachel peers up at her hopefully. "You mean I can really join the team?" she says in a small voice. "You haven't even heard me sing yet."

Shelby sends her what she hopes is a reassuring smile. "I trust Jesse's ear. I trained him after all. Besides, I don't think he'd ever leave me alone if I didn't give you a spot, and I really don't want to deal with him trailing around after me like a sad puppy any more than he already does." Rachel laughs softly. "But maybe you could do me a proper audition on, say, Monday?"

She nods eagerly. "I can definitely do that."

"Great," Shelby says. Hopefully she'll have somewhat sorted through her emotions by the end of the weekend. That, or she'll have jumped on a plane to Alaska by Monday and be living among the narwhals and melting ice-caps. "Did you sing at McKinley?"

She knows Rachel was only there for a few weeks, and doesn't want to make her feel inadequate if she didn't, in fact, do any singing at her previous school. But equally, she can't bring herself to ask something more generic like whether Rachel's been singing for long. She already knows the answer to that; she can conjure up the mental image of a little brown-haired toddler singing 'Tomorrow' from _Annie_ as if it's happening right before her eyes.

"Yes," Rachel says. "I mean, not much obviously. I- I didn't get much of a chance. But I actually just helped to set up the new glee club there."

Shelby's taken aback. "_You _set up the glee club?"

Rachel sheepishly nods. "Yes, I mean there wasn't one that would allow me to showcase my vocal talents, and I've always loved to sing."

"Right," Shelby replies, swallowing hard.

"I mean it's sort of ironic now, isn't it? That I've created the competition."

Probably more ironic than you realise, Shelby thinks, remembering four years ago when she established Vocal Adrenaline due to the desperate need for an outlet of her own theatrical passions.

"Don't think of me as some kind of traitor before I'm even properly on the team," Rachel continues, "but I hope they manage to keep it going. Now that I'm not there."

That brings Shelby back to one of the questions that has been running through her mind all day. Why the hell has Rachel transferred now? Surely if the Berrys were moving, they would have done it a month ago, before the poor girl had to go through the trauma of starting high school twice in just a matter of weeks.

"I hope I'm not being invasive," she starts, unable to stop herself, "but why-"

"You want to know why I transferred?" Rachel interrupts. Shelby just nods. The girl sighs and bites her lip. "There were… family issues, I suppose. It's nothing- it's not- I'm _fine_," she says, sounding more like she's trying to convince herself more than Shelby. "Let's just say that my family decided that McKinley wasn't the right place for me."

What does that mean? Shelby wants to probe further, but what right does she have as Rachel's not-quite-yet show choir coach to do so? It must be something significant, though, she thinks. Hiram and Leroy Berry were never rash or overdramatic about things as serious as this. And they always put so much emphasis on school, so surely they wouldn't do something to interrupt her education without considerable reason? Right?

Shelby gives Rachel a polite nod, but frowns as she turns towards the stage where her team is beginning to trickle back in. She's going to get to the bottom of this.

Twenty-five minutes later, they finally manage to run through the whole song without Shelby interrupting. She has instead, of course, scribbled three pages of notes, but the song is sounding a hell of a lot better than it did a couple of hours ago.

"Whoever is dragging out that last note needs to book an appointment with an audiologist before rehearsal on Monday. It's a quick finish. We leave them wanting more, okay?" The students look between themselves onstage, and Shelby knows they're about to start pointing fingers in order to get into her good graces. She claps her hands to regain their attention. "It was better. Run through it by yourselves this weekend, and be ready for choreography on Monday." They nod, and continue to look expectantly up at her. She rolls her eyes, they really can't do anything without explicit instruction. "Leave."

As they all scuttle off the stage, Shelby begins to throw her things quickly into her purse. She checks the time on her phone and sees she only has forty minutes to get to her appointment. Usually, she wouldn't care too much about being a little late, but today she can predict that she's going to need the whole hour.

Rachel is still sat quietly beside her, seemingly waiting for her own dismissal. If it were anyone else, Shelby would probably just get up and walk away, but she can't.

"So that was a VA rehearsal," she says, getting to her feet and swinging the purse over her shoulder. The leather strap digs in through her blouse with the weight of her books and laptop.

"It was _incredible_," Rachel tells her earnestly. "You're so … precise and exact."

Well, that sounds better than controlling and maniacal. Those were the words used by a sophomore girl last year, right before she handed Shelby a bill for the therapy her parents had forced her to attend after six weeks of nationals rehearsals. Shelby had passed it along to the booster club.

"Thanks, Rachel." She hitches the strap up on her shoulder and moves to leave. "I- uh- are you going to be okay getting home?"

Rachel nods and gestures to the stairs, where Jesse is approaching, backpack on his shoulders. "Yes, thanks, Miss Corcoran. Jesse said he would give me a ride."

Shelby narrows her eyes at the boy. If that little punk hurts one hair on Rachel's head, she will literally tear him apart with her bare hands.

"Right, well drive safely," she says. "See you both tomorrow." She turns and walks briskly away, forcing herself to take deep breaths. She trusts Jesse, Jesse is a good kid. So why does she want to grab him by his curly hair and tell him to stay the hell away from Rachel? If either of them are bad news for the girl, she definitely holds more potential to completely uproot Rachel's life.

"Bye, Shelby," Jesse calls after her. "Come on, Rach."

She's walking out to her Range Rover when a new wave of panic suddenly sweeps through her. Rachel's going home. Rachel's going home late which means she's going to have to explain what she was doing after school- if she hasn't already. That means she's going to tell her dads about the rehearsal. And surely then she will mention Shelby.

Rachel might not realise who Shelby is, but her dads will.

She slips inside the driver's seat of the car and leans her head up against the steering wheel, banging her head sharply against it a few times. This can't be happening. It's all too much for one day.

Just drive the car, Shelby tells herself. Drive to your appointment, get through it, and then deal with the inevitable aftermath of Hiram and Leroy discovering that, yet again, you're trying to ruin their daughter's life afterwards.

000

"Hi, Marty," she says, walking into the familiar office half an hour later, "you're about to be a very rich man with the amount of therapising I'm going to need following today."

Marty leans back in his leather armchair and pushes his glasses up his thin nose. "Shelby," he greets with a nod. "I see you're still using humour as a coping mechanism. Also, 'therapising' isn't a word. Aren't you an English teacher?"

Shelby slumps down onto the couch across from his chair and frowns. "Look, I don't tell you that you're not any good at _your _job. So let's not insult mine."

Marty chuckles. "Yes you do. Last week you asked me whether I made my diploma on Photoshop because you said you couldn't believe that Stanford would have actually given me my doctorate."

"Did I?" Shelby asks nonchalantly. "I don't remember that."

"And here I was thinking we'd already discussed the ineffectiveness of repressing memories."

"Funny," she says dryly. "If you ever decide to pack in the whole being a therapist thing, you could make a killing as a comedian."

"I think I'd miss you too much."

"Oh, Marty," Shelby gasps, throwing a hand dramatically across her chest. "I'm flattered. But we know the only reason you like me so much is because my unparalleled levels of fucked-up-ness are single-handedly funding your mortgage payments."

"Oh, no. My mortgage is all paid off. You're financing the yacht I want to buy when I retire."

"Name if after me?"

"Sure."

"Thanks."

Marty doesn't reply for a few seconds, and Shelby shifts deeper into the couch, pulling one of the cushions from behind her and wrapping her arms protectively around it. She's been coming here almost every week for the past three years and, without always meaning to, has revealed some of her deepest, darkest secrets to the middle-aged man before her.

"So, you've had a big day today?" Marty prompts. Shelby scowls at the realisation that their playful banter is over and it's time to move fully in to 'therapy mode'.

"The biggest," she confirms with a nod. "I don't even really know where to begin."

"We can start by talking about your other progress, if you want," Marty offers. Shelby notices his brown eyes taking on that x-ray like quality and she suddenly feels completely vulnerable. It's her least favourite feeling in the world, and she pulls the cushion tighter into her chest. "You look a little tired."

"Gee, thanks," she says coldly. Marty just raises his eyebrows. "I didn't sleep all that well last night. Some of my neighbours threw a party."

"Right," he replies casually. "And your eating?"

"Has been happening," she says evasively.

"Want to elaborate?"

"Not really." For a moment, she's sure she sees his eyes dart towards her purse where this morning's protein bar is still lying untouched. Maybe she's imagining things, or maybe he's just that good. "I suppose it could be better."

"I see."

"In my defence, though, I'd like to see you sitting down for a full course meal after the day I've had today."

Marty gives her a sympathetic smile. "We'll get to that," he assures her. "But before today?"

"I've been eating," she says, cringing slightly at the whine which penetrates her voice. He still looks skeptical. "I have!"

"If you say you have, then I believe you." Shelby nods firmly, pushing down the little waves of guilt which are dancing in her stomach. She _has _been eating, it's not a complete lie. "And have you been logging still?"

She cocks her head, deliberating for a second, but she can't find the energy to lie anymore. "Yes," she mutters, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Shelby," he begins, leaning forwards.

"I know, I know," she huffs, "you hate the fact that I'm still doing that."

"I don't 'hate' it," Marty says softly. "It's just that at this point in your recovery, a lot of people find it beneficial to move away from recording intakes so diligently."

"But I like doing it."

"You like being in control," he counters, and she know she can't argue with that.

She shrugs. "It might be unconventional, but it works for me."

"And do you see yourself doing that for the rest of your life?" Marty asks. "Taking a picture of everything you eat before you do so?"

Shelby lets out a non-committal grunt. "I don't know. Does it matter?"

"I just think that it's preventing you from continuing to develop a natural relationship with the food you eat. The act of taking the picture places distance between the substance as nourishment and your body's requirement for food."

"So you're saying you think I'll never get better until I just start shovelling food into my mouth without even thinking about it?"

"No, that's what you're saying. I'm not here to tell you exactly what to do, Shelby. Just to guide your own thoughts. Your actions are your own decisions."

Shelby frowns. "Reverse psychology has never worked on me."

"It's a good job I'm not trying to use it then, isn't it?"

Shelby runs her fingers through the tassels on the edge of the cushion, thinking this over. It's highly frustrating. She's _been_ eating. She's fine. In the grand scheme of things, it's honestly the last thing she wants to take up valuable brain space with. Which brings her back to the events of today.

"Can we please talk about today now?" she asks after a few beats of silence.

She doesn't miss the flicker of disappointment that crosses Marty's features. But he recovers quickly. "Sure."

Her stomach twists unpleasantly, and she gets the same feeling that she's always had before a big audition. 'The floor is hers', so to speak. She just doesn't quite know how to articulate everything. Meeting Marty's anticipatory eyes, she takes a deep breath and decides to just bite the bullet. She really has nothing else to lose.

"Rachel came into my school today."

Marty's mouth gapes open; this time it takes him longer to salvage his neutral expression. "Wow," he says slowly. "Did she- was she looking for you?"

Shelby's heart breaks again. She should probably head to the hospital after she leaves the office, get them to run a quick scan to make sure she hasn't actually ruptured her vena cava or something with the trauma it's been through today.

She laughs bitterly. "No. Not at all." Marty frowns. "She doesn't know who I am. She just transferred to the school this morning."

"Well, that must have been quite the shock."

Shelby glares at him. Was this man for real? "I think I would have been less surprised if Jesus Christ himself had walked into my homeroom. Definitely less affected."

Marty grants her a slight chuckle. "I take it that it affected you a lot then?"

Well, duh. "Yes," she bites out. "Obviously."

He nods understandingly. "And how did it make you feel?"

Several sarcastic retorts immediately enter Shelby's mind, but she pushes them away. She has to deal with this. "Like shit." She pauses, shutting her eyes tightly and trying to think about how to put these extreme emotions into words. "It felt- it feels like everything I've ever done wrong in my life has come back to haunt me and slap me in the face and stab me in the chest and I don't know how I'm supposed to deal with it."

"I see," he says quietly. "The first thing to do is to try to break down your feelings. You can't deal with a whole wave of emotion all at once, you'll drown." Almost unconsciously, Shelby takes a deep breath, gulping for air. She feels like she's already drowning. "What's the main thought going through your head?"

"That it's not fair," she answers quickly.

"What's not fair?"

"That after fourteen years- after twelve years- that… she…" Shelby trails off staring hopelessly down at the cushion. "She's not my baby."

"She isn't." Shelby can't tell whether he's phrased it as a confirmation, or a question.

"But then when she looked at me with those big brown eyes, I just- I don't know how I ever lived without them, you know?"

"You're feeling regretful about your decisions?"

You can say that again. What she can't answer is exactly _which_ decisions he's talking about. "It's not fair," she simply says again.

"To whom?"

'Rachel, of course,' she wants to answer. It's not fair to her to have to encounter her cowardly, abandoning mother in this way. She also wants to add that it's not fair to Hiram and Leroy, after they tried to do, _have _done, so much for both her and her daughter.

But the ache in her chest won't let her.

"To anyone," she finally whispers. "It's not fair to anyone."

* * *

_**A/N: I really hoped you enjoyed! I loved writing this with overdramatic Jesse and Rachel, and on-the-verge-of-mental-breakdown Shelby. I know there's still a lot of unanswered questions, but I have to leave something for next time, right? To give a little tease, chapter 3 is called 'She Used To Be Mine' ... I wonder who that could be about? **_

_**Please review- I would love to know what you thought! **_


	3. Something Bad

_**A/N: Thank you all so much for the support so far! This is a long one... Happy 16 years to Wicked on Broadway- here is Chapter 3: Something Bad.**_

* * *

The velvet material of the auditorium chair scratches uncomfortably against the back of Rachel's thighs yet she remains glued to the seat. Her face contorts with a forlorn expression as she watches the retreating figure of Miss Corcoran hastily exit the auditorium. The woman takes the steps down two at a time, her heels clacking angrily against the floor as if she's venting all her frustration out through her stomps. Was it _her?_ Was sitting next to Rachel _that _bad? She can't come up with any other ideas as to what has Miss Corcoran so worked up, and other people in her life have certainly seemed to think so.

Sure, she'd yelled at her team a few times, but Jesse had warned Rachel earlier that that would probably happen; that was just how Miss Corcoran operated apparently. And, in Rachel's opinion, the rehearsal had been wonderful: the harmonies, the striking facials, the _sound!_ And this was before they'd even added choreography. She had, however prematurely, allowed herself to envisage what it would be like if _she_ were up there too. The giddy thought was enough to drive out her lingering memories of her last, disastrous performance.

Throughout it all, though, what excited her most was daring to imagine the corrections, or maybe even _praise_ that Miss Corcoran would bestow upon her. The trickle of yearning she'd felt with Jesse earlier in the piano room was most definitely back. As Rachel watched Vocal Adrenaline onstage, it coursed through her veins with a vengeance. She definitely wants in.

She'd been thinking that Miss Corcoran might stick around for a while with her, talk to her about the various requirements and expectations of being on the team. Clearly that's not the case, though. It's like the woman can't get out of there fast enough.

Through the fog of her admiration, however, Rachel begins to notice that there's something definitively strange about the teacher. The constant and almost imperceptible shifting between looking like she has the world at her feet, and like she's about to crumble into dust. Rachel may be a little out of practice, she hasn't taken an acting class in almost two years, but she can recognise someone plunging into a well rehearsed character when she sees it.

After all, hasn't she been doing exactly the same thing for a while now?

"Come on, Rach."

Rachel blinks hard and her eyes blearily come back into focus on Jesse's face. He's smiling, but it's clear he's been waiting for her to acknowledge him for some time. When their eyes meet, he jerks his head towards the door and she suddenly realises she's meant to get up and follow him out. She gets to her feet quickly, rubbing the itching sting out of her thighs. Of its own accord, her well-worn show face slips back into position.

"Thanks again for this, Jesse," she says, giving him a shy but genuine smile. She knows that he probably has ulterior motives, namely buttering her up to get her to join the team. As if she needs any more persuasion. Still it's nice, and she can't quite remember the last time someone did something like this for her without her having to ask. "I'm supposed to be getting the bus home, but I'm not sure whether it runs this late. I'll have to check if I'm going to be coming to rehearsals regularly."

"_When_ you're coming to rehearsals regularly," Jesse corrects with a knowing look.

Rachel laughs; his unwavering confidence is still catching her by surprise. "Fine. _When_," she concedes in an exaggeratedly dramatic tone. It could even rival Jesse's.

"Better. And if it doesn't, I'll just drive you," he tells her easily. They emerge out of the auditorium and a wave of bitter fall air washes over Rachel, sending a shiver through her. She's glad that Jesse insisted on driving her rather than having to make the walk to the bus station right about now.

But she frowns at Jesse's words; he couldn't, _wouldn't_ do this everyday surely? "I couldn't ask you to do that," she says quickly. "Like I said, we live a bit out of town. It'll be too far."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Jesse says, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. "You've only apologised three hundred and fifty times for making me drive you out of the Carmel district. I _have _left Akron before, you know?"

Rachel lets out a small chuckle at his indignation. "Really? I thought they would keep you all locked in. Wouldn't want you to catch something from anyone from-," she pauses and shudders dramatically, "-_Lima_."

She says her city's name in the exact tone Jesse had used earlier: shocked, horrified, scandalised. He had admitted that he'd never actually been properly into the town before, which she had found rather amusing. She'd had to dutifully reassure him that they did in fact have shops, restaurants and working electricity.

"Yeah, well I'm pretty sure I'm up to date with all my shots," he says dryly.

They take their gentle ribbing with them across the parking lot, eventually coming to a halt in front of the row of large, black Range Rovers. These must be the booster club gifts Jesse had been bragging- sorry, no _informing_ her- about earlier. The scene reminds Rachel of tanks from World War Two that she's seen pictured in her history textbooks. Never in her wildest dreams could she imagine the glee club at McKinley having something _this_ extravagant. She's pretty sure she likes it, though.

Behind the scarily militaristic façade of Vocal Adrenaline is a team which operates together for the greater good, and a coach who _definitely_ knows what she's doing. In fact, everyone she met in that rehearsal, while admittedly intimidating, had a sense of drive and passion that, before, Rachel had only encountered in herself. She's beginning to hope that maybe she's finally found where she belongs.

"This is me," Jesse says, pointing to the furthest car. He slings his backpack round onto one shoulder and begins to rifle through it for his keys.

"You sure?" Rachel asks with a wry smile. "I mean, don't you ever get confused about which one belongs to you?"

Jesse narrows his eyes at her playfully. "_No_," he pouts. "Look."

He clicks the button on his keys and the blinding headlights spring menacingly to life. He beckons Rachel towards the back of the car and points down at his license plate.

_'5T J 1'_

"Like St. James one," he tells Rachel with a smug nod. "As in the one and only Jesse St. James."

"Yeah, I got it," she laughs. She takes it in for a second: the shimmering vinyl font, the small gold stars adorning its border. An image of a similar plate reading 'B3RRY' flitters across her mind. She dismisses it with a shake of her head. Even if she _were_ to get a Range Rover from the team, they probably cost a fortune to run and she can't see _that_ going down too well.

"Miss C got it for me for my birthday," Jesse says, running a hand through his hair casually. "Well, _I_ got it, but then I sent her the bill for it."

Rachel just stares at him in shock for a second. She's never encountered a student-teacher relationship quite like theirs before, not one so close. And that's including the illicit affairs she's seen depicted on crappy TV shows. A sudden thought strikes her and she wrinkles her nose at it immediately. Jesse and Miss Corcoran _couldn't_ be having an affair, could they? She debates it back and forth in her mind as she walks around the side of Jesse's car and gets in to the passenger seat. There's no way, right?

"You okay?" Jesse asks, eyeing her with concern as he turns the key in the ignition. The car comes to life with a roar that dims out to a gentle hum.

"Yeah," Rachel replies, nodding quickly. She watches as Jesse expertly reverses the car and then navigates them speedily out of the mostly deserted lot. He does have a sense of maturity about him, she thinks. Then again, Miss Corcoran didn't seem to act like she would agree with that assessment from her sarcasm. But her show face! Maybe _that's_ what she was hiding.

"Stop thinking so loudly," Jesse tells her. "You're giving me a migraine."

"Sorry." Rachel bites her lip. She knows she's probably just proving everyone's point that she's nosey or controlling, but she's too curious to just let it slide. "So, you and Miss Corcoran? You're close?"

Jesse nods. "Yeah, we're close. Have been since my first year on the team."

"Oh." How close?, she wants to ask.

Jesse turns to look at her when they come to halt at a stoplight. "It's not what you're thinking," he assures her quickly.

Rachel immediately feels a blush rising on her cheeks. How can Jesse _always_ seem to read her so obviously? "Oh," she repeats.

Jesse lets out a prolonged sigh. The pause makes her wait with bated breath for his explanation; she's sure that must be his desired intent. "Shelby just gets me, you know? When you've got all this talent, all this potential just waiting to be unlocked, it's good to have someone who understands that. And she does."

If someone had said that to her yesterday, Rachel isn't sure she would have fully grasped it. But the way Jesse's been with her today, she sees exactly where he's coming from.

"She's also been there for me through some shitty situations," Jesse continues. When Rachel furrows her brow in confusion, he chuckles. "You're not the only one with mysterious family issues, Miss Berry."

"Oh." It's her word of the day, apparently.

"Yeah. So it's nothing like _that. _God no," he finishes, pulling a disgusted face. The light turns green and they begin to move again, sliding through the suburbs of Akron and towards the bigger roads which will carry them out of the city. "I mean, she's hot. Obviously. But no. She's like the big sister I never had. Or, well, I _do _have a big sister, but Shelby's been a much better one to me." He trails off before shooting Rachel a small smile which finally betrays a little humanity, eroding at his tireless arrogance. "I like girls a bit closer to my own age."

Rachel's cheeks flush again and she has to bite down on her lip to stop it tugging out into a smile. _What the hell are you doing_, she berates herself quickly.

"Jesse- I," she starts.

"I'm not asking you out right now," Jesse says firmly, cutting her off. "But I think there's something special about you, Rachel Barbra Berry."

"I really like you, Jesse," Rachel says, staring pointedly ahead. "As a friend."

"Ouch," Jesse smirks. He's back to his usual smugness, but Rachel's sure she can sense a little pain beneath it.

"It's not like that," she says abruptly. She _does_ like Jesse it's just… She falters and begins to pick nervously at her fingers while she thinks. She said she wasn't going to tell anyone. Not right away anyway, not until she could trust someone. But she trusts Jesse, right? And he's been honest with her about the whole Miss Corcoran thing. Surely she can do the same back? Besides, she sadly realises, she could really do with a confidant. "I- Jesse, can you keep a secret?"

He glances over at her, intrigued. "Sure."

She frowns at his casual tone. "It's important, and you can't tell _anyone_, okay?"

He nods, his face more serious now. "Of course, Rach. You can tell me."

"Right," Rachel says, readying herself with a deep breath. "Well, I actually have a boyfriend."

They come to a stop sign and Jesse turns towards her incredulously. "Okaaay," he says slowly, dragging the word out. "That's your big secret?" Rachel nods. "Oh- I thought it was going to be something worse than that."

"It is, sort of," Rachel protests, annoyed by the anger which creeps into her voice. "I mean- it had consequences- I- it-. Never mind." She scowls and stares out of the window. She should have known she couldn't just reveal the tip of the iceberg. Of course Jesse would want to deep-dive down beneath it.

"Wait, Rach, I'm sorry," he says. He flicks on the turn signal, and pulls the car over by the side of the road. "I shouldn't have dismissed it like that." He turns to face her, placing a gentle hand on her knee so that she looks back over at him. "You can try to explain it to me, if you like."

He gives her a sympathetic smile, which Rachel tentatively returns. "There's a whole situation, which I wo- I _can't_ go into right now," she begins, and Jesse gives her an encouraging nod. "But last week, um, Noah- that's his name- and I, we, uh, got _interrupted_, let's say. We weren't actually, _you know_. But that's what- that was the final straw, I think. And then my gr- my _family_ decided I had to move schools."

Jesse frowns as he tries to make sense of what she's just said. "So, your super secret family issues are actually super secret boyfriend issues?"

Rachel sighs with a small shrug. "Partly," she says quietly. "Like I said, there's a lot of _stuff_ behind it, I guess. Some things that I don't even know about, I think."

"Your family's keeping stuff from you?" Jesse asks.

"Yeah. Like I said, there's a lot going on. The past couple of years have been… hard, to put it lightly."

"Maybe you should just try talking to your parents about it? Explain how you're feeling about… whatever it is that's going on?" Jesse suggests. Rachel's heart constricts painfully, but she has to give Jesse credit: he's _trying_. She nods with a forced smile since words are evading her right now. "I mean, my mom, she's a massive bitch, right? But even she tries to listen to me sometimes."

"I don't have a mom," Rachel replies automatically. It's the response she's been dishing out for forever. "Well, I guess I _do_ have one. But my dads… my dads adopted me."

"Oh," Jesse says. He's clearly a little taken aback, but he smiles reassuringly. "Then try to talk to them, I'm sure they would listen too."

Rachel swallows hard and stares back out the passenger side window. "Yeah, I'm sure they would," she whispers.

She takes a few seconds to focus on stopping her eyes clouding with tears. She doesn't need that right now, and she's certain Jesse doesn't either. Once she's gathered herself- at least as much as she thinks she'll be able to for now- she looks at the time-display on Jesse's dashboard. _6:40_.

"Let's get going," she says decisively. She projects from her diaphragm so that her voice doesn't break and expose how shaken she is; Miss Corcoran would probably be impressed, she thinks cynically. "I need to be home before seven."

Jesse looks a little bewildered by her sudden change in manner, but he puts the car back into gear at once. "Sure."

They drive in silence for a little while. Rachel isn't oblivious to the worried glances Jesse keeps shooting her way, but she chooses to ignore them, instead focussing on the digital clock as it slowly counts down the minutes. They have to be there before seven.

"So," Jesse says, finally breaking the awkward silence with a tone of forced levity, "do you know what you're going to sing for your audition on Monday?"

Rachel's head shoots up. "You know about that?"

Jesse smirks. "I know everything."

A small grin fights it way onto Rachel's face. "Well," she says, "I think I'll do some Barbra. It's been my go to since I was four."

"Four?" Jesse laughs.

"Yes. Before that it was usually something from _Annie_."

"What, that got a bit juvenile, did it? At the grand old age of _four_?" Jesse mocks.

"Precisely," Rachel confirms through a laugh. "That was when I watched _Funny Girl_, and I've never looked back since."

Jesse sniggers as he pulls off the highway and into the more residential streets of a neighbourhood outside Lima. "You know, I could lend you a hand if you want. I like to think I know my way around a Vocal Adrenaline audition pretty well."

"Really?" she asks excitedly. "That would be great! Thanks, Jesse."

"Anything for my future female lead," he says. "Here." Without taking his eyes off the road, he pulls his phone from his back pocket and hands it to her. "Put your number in and I'll text you about rehearsing."

Rachel just looks down at the phone for a few seconds, her own reflection staring back at her from the blank black screen. She forces her eyes back up. "I don't have a phone right now," she mumbles.

A simple "Oh," escapes Jesse's lips. He thought _everyone _had phones these days.

As if reading his mind, Rachel continues. "I _did _have one," she quickly assures him. "I'm not like… Amish, or whatever. I had one but then…"

"Then everything happened?" Jesse supplies.

"Right," she confirms with a small nod as she deposits his phone inside the cup holder. "Then everything happened."

"It's fine," Jesse says. "We'll figure something out at school tomorrow."

"Okay," she says. "Next left."

Jesse obliges, turning onto a narrow suburban street. The houses are smaller than the ones in his own neighbourhood, but they're nice enough, he supposes.

"Just up here," Rachel says, gesturing towards a house on the right hand side of the street.

She spares a quick look at the clock one last time. _6:56_. Relief. He's barely stopped the car before she's unbuckling her seatbelt, grabbing her bag and throwing the door open.

"Thanks for the ride, Jesse. I really-."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jesse sees the front door of the house swing open. He can't make much out from here but he sees a woman's silhouette appear in the doorway, dark against the bright yellow light spilling out from the house.

"Rachel! Where the _hell_ have you been?"

At the sound of the voice, Rachel flinches. She freezes for a second, half-way through clambering out of the car. Her eyes clamp shut and she bites down hard on her bottom lip.

"Rach-?"

She shakes her head and opens her eyes which are now glazed over with unshed tears. "Don't, Jesse. Thank you- I… I'll see you tomorrow." She quickly steps fully out of the car.

"Wait-." Jesse tries again. It's futile.

"Just _go, _Jesse," Rachel hisses. "_Please_."

"Rachel!" the voice barks again.

Before Jesse can react, she's slammed the door shut behind her and is hastily running towards the house. He hesitates for a second before he notices her hand, down by her side, subtly shooing him away. As he pulls the car back onto the road, and away from Rachel, his mind begins to race.

Hadn't Rachel _just_ said that she didn't have a mother? So who on earth was that woman, and why was she so angry? He can't seem to make sense of it, but a feeling in the pit of his stomach tells him he one thing.

Something bad was going on.

000

_Thursday 4th October_

_20:30: Shelbs, I'm sorry. Call me back please -L_

_20:37: Shelby Corcoran missed a call from Luke Gupta_

_20:45: Shelby? -L_

_20:49: Shelby, at least just let me know you're okay. -L_

_20:50: I'm fine. Go to sleep. It's the middle of the night there and you have work in the morning. -S_

_20:51: I will now. I'm really sorry and I love you so much, Shelbs. -L_

_20:52: Yeah, you too. -S_

_20:52: Night, babe. Call me if you need anything. It's all going to be okay. -L_

_Friday 5th October_

_03:31: I'm awake now, so call me if you need to. Hope your evening was okay and that you're getting a good night's sleep. -L_

**_Read 03:35_**

_07:35: Morning, love. Hope your yoga went well if you did it this morning. Eat a good breakfast. -L_

**_Read 07:37_**

_08:25: Shelby Corcoran missed a call from Luke Gupta_

_08:27: Shelby Corcoran missed a call from Luke Gupta_

_08:29: Shelby Corcoran rejected a call from Luke Gupta_

_08:29: Luke, leave it. I'm fine. In my office now. -S_

_08:30: Okay, sorry. Have a good day and I'll call you at lunch. I love you. -L_

_08:33: Don't. I have grading to catch up on from last night. -S_

_08:33: Okay. -L_

_12:30: Shelby Corcoran rejected a call from Luke Gupta_

_12:31: I'm busy. -S_

_12:33: Sorry. Can you try to eat a good lunch for me? -L_

**_Read 12:35_**

_12:43: Shelby, please. I'm worried about you. -L_

_12:45: I'm fine. -S_

_12:48: Okay. But please eat something. -L_

**_Read 12:49_**

_12:52: Please, babe. Or else I'm going to have to call Jesse to check on you for me. -L_

_12:52: Do NOT do that. I had a protein bar, I'm fine. -S_

_12:53: Okay. I'm sorry. Have a good afternoon and I'll call you later. -L_

**_Read 12:54_**

_15:35: Shelby Corcoran missed a call from Luke Gupta_

_15:40: Shelby Corcoran missed a call from Luke Gupta_

_15:47: Shelby Corcoran missed a call from Luke Gupta_

_15:47: Shelby? Please answer me. I just want to talk. -L_

_15:56: Shelby Corcoran missed a call from Luke Gupta_

_16:02: Shelby Corcoran missed a call from Luke Gupta_

_16:05: One new voicemail from contact: Luke Gupta_

_"Hi, Shelbs. Look, I'm really sorry about what I said yesterday. I shouldn't have tried to push you to talk to her when you weren't ready. I… uh… That was wrong of me, I get that now. I'm just worried about you and I was only trying to help. But, yeah, that was wrong. I've talked to some of the professors here and we're trying to move my lectures up a bit so that I can come home earlier. I… uh- I just said that I had a family emergency back home. They're looking into it so I'll let you know as soon as I can. I really hope you listen to this and know how much I love you. Please call me when you get this. Bye, babe. _**_End of message. To repeat, press one. To dele-_**_."_

_16:08: Sorry for being such a bitch. I'm honestly okay. I love you too. -S_

_16:10: Shelby Corcoran rejected a call from Luke Gupta_

_16:11: I can't talk right now. I don't know what to say. I just need to clear my head a bit. -S_

_16:12: That's okay. Please call me later. -L_

**_Read 16:13_**

_17:35: How you doing, baby? -L_

_17:59: Shelby Corcoran missed a call from Luke Gupta_

_18:24: Shelby Corcoran missed a call from Luke Gupta_

_18:25: Shelby Corcoran missed a call from Luke Gupta_

_18:25: Shelbs- you okay? -L_

_18:28: Shelby? -L_

_18:31: Are you even getting these? -L_

_18:35: Shelby Corcoran missed a call from Luke Gupta_

_18:37: Shelby, I'm so worried. Please call me back. -L_

_18:47: Shelbs, please don't hate me. -L_

**_Read 18:51_**

Shelby frowns down at her phone screen. Hate him? What was he on about? She quickly closes the Messages app and opens her music library. Waiting for the familiar chime that tells her the phone has connected to her in-built speaker system, she quickly scrolls through her copious saved playlists. She eventually settles on her 'It's a shit day but it's okay' selection.

She remembers the day her and Luke made it last year. She'd had a particularly horrible therapy session and cried the whole way home in his car. When they'd eventually made it back, he led her into her ensuite bathroom and began to run a bath while she sat on the toilet lid, her legs curled up to her chest and her face pressed into her knees. She had expected him to just settle her into the bath and leave her to cry it out. The fact that he was doing _something_ to help her, running the bath and talking gently to her while she cried was more than most people in her life had ever done.

But while she just sat there, the tears slipping down her face and creating two damp patches on the knees of her black slacks, he had picked up her phone and was busy making the playlist. He set it to go, and Shelby's head jerked up when the music suddenly filled her ears.

Luke didn't say anything. Instead he just lifted her to her feet, and slowly undressed her. There was nothing sexual, nothing _dirty_ about it: his moves were tender, loving and slow. Once she was standing there completely naked, in a position where she knew she _should_ have felt totally vulnerable, all she felt was safe and loved. Luke had then quickly undressed himself and gently lowered them together into Shelby's large bathtub.

They lay together in the warm water, his strong arms wrapped tightly around her slight frame, as the last few tears leaked out of her eyes. When her sobs came to a gentle close, he had turned her face towards him and used a thumb to wipe any trace of them away. Then he kissed her tenderly.

The soft music played overhead as she intertwined her fingers with his; pale pink skin next to light brown. '_Wherever you go, whatever you do, I will be right here waiting for you. Whatever it takes, or how my heart breaks, I will be right here waiting for you.'_

Later that night, when they were lying in a similar position in Shelby's bed, she had buried her face into his bare chest and told him _everything_. He already knew about Rachel's birth, and bits and pieces from her time in New York, but this time she didn't hold anything back. She started with the events of her twelfth birthday, and completely bared her soul to him, right down to the nitty-gritty of what she'd discussed in therapy that day.

As the secrets poured out of her into the inky darkness of the room, she had thought for sure that he would just get up and leave. But he didn't. He had just held her until she was done, dried her tears once more, and fallen asleep next to her.

Shelby stares at her haggard reflection in the mirror as that same tune lilts through the same bathroom. '_I will be right here waiting for you_.'What the hell was she doing blowing him off like this? The man who had seen the worst parts of her and run with it.

She hastily scoops a handful of water over her blotchy face and dries off with her hand towel. Then she grabs her phone off the counter, and finally sets about returning some of his missed calls.

She's listening to the phone ring as she paces back and forth in the bathroom.

"Come on, baby, talk to m-."

"Hello? Shelby?" Luke's voice cuts across her frantic muttering in his usual deep and comforting tone. Shelby's eyes well-up immediately at the sound of it.

"Hi, baby," she whispers.

"Shelbs- thank _god_. Are you okay?"

She takes a deep breath, which rattles through her. "Yeah," she says carefully. "I'm okay. I… just- Luke, I'm so sorry. I've been awful-."

The ringing of the doorbell suddenly distracts her from her thoughts and she sighs frustratedly. She's about to continue to speak when it rings again, now accompanied by several loud knocks.

"Shelbs? You good?" Luke asks.

"Yeah," she sighs, hoping that the pounding will let up. "I just wanted to apologise for-."

She stops herself again, when the doorbell rings for the fifth time.

"For fuck's sake," she mutters, quickly leaving the bathroom and heading through her bedroom towards the stairs. "Just give me one second, babe. There's someone about to bang my door down."

"Oh," Luke says quickly. The simple word is spoken in a knowing tone; Shelby completely misses this, too caught up in her own frustrations.

"I'll tell them to fuck off and then I'm all yours."

She's heading down the stairs, almost to the entrance hall when Luke's voice suddenly makes her stop. "Shelby- wait!"

"What?"

"Um- I may have done something… Told someone to come to your house. But you can't be angry at me. I was just worried."

"Luke Gupta, _what did you do_?" Shelby hisses.

She's sure she hears a gulp coming down the phone line.

Yes, she's an irritable person, and can be a downright bitch a lot of the time. A fact that her students _love _to remind her of whenever they think she can't hear them. But she never gets angry at Luke, not really. Even for the past day, she hasn't been angry at _him_, she was just too overwhelmed and frustrated at the world. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But she can hear the trepidation in his voice now, and it immediately sets her edge. If he thinks she's about to be pissed at him, he's probably very right.

She jumps the last few stairs and strides to the front door.

"Last chance to explain," she warns, "I'm about to open the door."

"Just remember how much I love and adore you, Shelbs," he says nervously.

"Wrong answer."

With the phone still pressed against her ear, she yanks the door open and is almost met with a fist in the face as the woman on the other side goes to knock once more.

"Idiot," she says plainly. It's addressed both down the phone and across the threshold. She turns away from the door, leaving it open, and leans up against the hallway wall.

"I'm sorry," Luke says. "I just didn't know what to do! You weren't picking up my calls and I was just worried, babe."

"I know," Shelby concedes. "Thank you." She sighs deeply but she's finally smiling a little. "I'll call you back later, if I'm not too drunk. I'm sure she's about to start plying me with alcohol any minute now."

"I heard that!" the blonde woman snaps as she flounces past Shelby, heading straight for the kitchen.

"You were meant to!" Shelby calls after her.

"I love you," Luke tries weakly.

"Yeah, yeah," Shelby smirks. "Love you too."

"Line your stomach before you drink spirits! Bye!"

Before Shelby can respond, he has hung up on her. Shaking her head with a chuckle, she slams the front door and shut and heads into the kitchen.

Cassandra July shoots her an evil grin as she stomps inside. "Well, well, well, Miss Corcoran," she says, her eyes glinting, "a little birdie told me you were on the verge of having a mental breakdown. So I swooped in here to make everything all better."

"Fuck off, Cassie."

Cassie pouts. "That was rude and uncalled for." She picks two bottles up off the counter and cocks her head. "What do you reckon: red or white?"

000

An hour and a half later, Shelby is well on her way to being decidedly tipsy. She was absolutely right with what she'd said to Luke, of course. Cassie had immediately begun to force alcohol down her throat despite her feeble protests and the two were now sprawled across the couch in Shelby's living room.

An already finished bottle on wine lies discarded on the oak coffee table next to several take-out containers. Shelby's sure that must have been at Luke's insistence; Cassie would usually never mind drinking on an empty stomach, but today she'd practically force-fed Shelby Thai curry before allowing her a second glass of wine.

They've abandoned using glasses now. Cassie has a bottle of Merlot nestled between her leg and the side of the couch, while Shelby's Pinot Grigio is propped up on her chest, held in place with her chin.

"I just didn't know what to think," Shelby mumbles, her voice echoing into the neck of the glass bottle. "Like _seriously_, what are the fucking chances, you know?"

"I know," Cassie repeats, running a few fingers through Shelby's hair which is covering most of her lap. "I still can't quite wrap my head around the fact that there's this little version of you walking around out there."

Shelby frowns. "You've known about her for like fifteen years, Cass."

"Yeah but now she's _real_," Cassie says. "And she's not just like this puking, shitting baby that I can show guys cute pictures of as a chat-up line."

Shelby leans her head back so she can look up at Cassie's face. "You _did _that? I thought you were just kidding."

"Oh no, babe. Worked like a charm. Remember Garrett? OSU freshman who was at my brother's New Years party in '06?"

"You mean Grant?"

"Whatever. Baby Rachel _totally_ got me into his pants."

"That's… disturbing," Shelby snorts. "But yes. She's real, and she's there and I have no fucking clue what to do."

"What did Mr Therapist say?" Cassie asks mockingly.

"He told me to, and I quote, 'take some time to figure out what to do'. Not my best use of seventy-five dollars," Shelby says grumpily. It had taken everything in her not to just stand up and smack Marty round the face when he'd suggested that.

"And that's why I've always found therapy to be complete bullshit," Cassie tells her firmly.

"And that's why you're a high-functioning alcoholic," Shelby counters.

Cassie glares down at her for a second before reaching out and tapping her nose. "Touché."

"And then Luke was all like, 'why don't you just invite her to your office, sit her down and explain the truth to her?'," Shelby continues, putting on a gruff New York accent to imitate her boyfriend.

Cassie grimaces. "I'm guessing you didn't take that too well?"

"Nuh-uh. I hung up on him and then was a total bitch until about-," she glances up at the clock on the wall, "-two hours ago."

"Sounds deserved," Cassie says and Shelby rolls her eyes. Trust Cassandra July to always justify her poor behaviour. "Right- so what _are_ you going to do?"

Shelby shrugs and sits up a little so she can gulp down another large mouthful of wine. "No idea. And I basically only have until Monday afternoon to get it together."

"Well, how did you handle it this morning?" Cassie prompts, after taking a swig from her own bottle.

"Oh- this morning? This morning I waited until there were only five minutes of homeroom left, ran in there to take attendance and then ran straight back out. I'm pretty sure the kids think I have explosive diarrhoea or something."

Cassie wrinkles her nose. "Sounds like a sustainable, long-term approach," she deadpans.

"Right? Keep running around the school like that and I'll have my perfect summer body in no time."

"It's October-"

"-Whatever-"

"-and I thought we'd discussed you making weight-related jokes. Not funny, Shelbs."

"I thought it was," Shelby grumbles. "You sound like my therapist. Would you like to apply? I think I'm in the market for a new one."

"If it gets me a license to prescribe Xanax then absolutely," Cassie grins.

"_I thought we'd discussed you making substance abuse related jokes_," Shelby mocks. She quickly shifts her face out of the way of Cassie's hand as it comes down to smack her head. "But seriously, what the fuck do I do? She's auditioning for me on Monday, and then I have to let her on the team or else Jess will probably break into my house and subject me to death-by-teenage-whining. You know, I think he's finally found someone he likes as much as himself."

"Pube Head's already got to your kid? Damn, he works fast."

"Tell me about it," Shelby agrees. "And don't call him that. He's a good kid, if a little egotistical and manipulative."

"Sounds like _someone __else_ I know," Cassie says with a pointed look down at her friend who flips her off. "And _he_ started it. Going around calling me Boozy Barbie at your sectionals competition last year."

"That was regionals," Shelby corrects.

Cassie waves her off. "They're all the same: a couple of groups of bumbling idiots flail around for forty-five minutes and then your adoring minions go on and obliterate everyone."

Shelby smiles. "They do, don't they?" she says fondly, pushing the bottle back to her lips and drinking deeply. "But back to the matter at hand. _Rachel _is about to become one of those minions."

Cassie seems to think for a second, collecting herself with a prolonged sip of wine. "Look, Shelbs, I don't want to tell you how to live your life-."

"Please, be my guest."

"Sounds to me like you just need to man-up and talk to Hiram and Leroy about everything."

"_What?_" Shelby cries, sitting up immediately. Cassie quickly yanks her bottle up to stop red wine from flying out onto the cream couch. She's not sure her friend could possibly get more worked up than she already is, but she doesn't really want to test that theory out.

"Listen," Cassie says, lying a soothing hand on Shelby's shoulder, "I know you didn't exactly leave things off in a great way." Shelby scoffs. "But they're great men, Shelbs, you know that. They would listen to you and help you out."

"I don't know," Shelby mutters, dejectedly lowering herself back onto Cassie's lap. "I really fucked up."

"I know you did," Cassie says bluntly. "But even then they didn't hate you."

Shelby bites her lip. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But what would I even say? 'Hey guys, Shelby here. I know I emotionally tormented you guys and our two year-old 'cause I was in the midsts of a mental breakdown. And I _know_ I ran away from your house in the dead of night to go to New York to continue said mental breakdown. Then I _know_ I ignored every attempt you made to reach out to me for twelve years. Sorry for throwing everything you did for me back in your faces, by the way. But, guess what? Kind of a teacher now, and our kid is in my class. Let's all go for brunch to catch up and figure out what to do. You free next week?'" She finishes with a bitter chuckle. "Doesn't really roll off the tongue, does it?"

"Well I wouldn't put it exactly like that," Cassie says, rolling her eyes. "It was a shit situation, Shelbs, but you can't beat yourself up forever over it."

"Oh but I _can_."

Cassie ignores her interjection. "Look, are they still emailing you? Why don't you just find their contact information, and we'll figure out what to say together?"

Shelby wants so badly to say no, to write off the idea as something pathetic and laughable. But she knows that she can't, because she absolutely _can't_ go on like this. It will tear her apart from the inside out. It's already starting to.

"Fine," she relents. "They haven't for a few years- maybe they finally gave up. But I still have it."

She arches her hips for a moment so that she can slide her phone out of her back pocket and makes quick work of opening her personal email account. It's definitely less used than her professional one, but it's still cluttered with items she's never bothered to open. She extracts her bottle of wine from her chest, passing it off to Cassie, so that she can type into the search-bar with both hands.

"There," she whispers as she brings up the email. For whatever reason, her hands have started to shake, so she rests the phone on her stomach as she reads the email dated from summer two years ago.

_'Hi, Shelby,_

_We have no way to know whether you're getting these. You probably don't even use this address anymore. But just in case you are, we just wanted to check in._

_We've just returned from Florida where we were visiting my (Hiram) parents for the first few weeks of summer. Rachel was delighted to have a whole new audience to perform to- she really your daughter. You need to watch out, in a few years there might be someone in the state of Ohio who's just as talented as you! If you _are_ in Ohio, that is. Maybe you're still in New York, I don't know. Or maybe you're off somewhere else, sprinkling some of that Shelby brilliance far and wide._

_Wherever you are, we just hope that you're happy, Shelby. No matter what you may think, you deserve the greatest happiness because you gave us that in Rachel. She's smart like you, too. And she also has no appreciation for my methods of doing math. Just the other month, she aimed her textbook right at my head because apparently I was doing long-division 'totally and utterly incorrectly'. Unlike you, she has terrible aim. I'm pretty sure I still have a mark from where your AP Calc book hit me._

_Anyway, what we're trying to say, Shelbs, is that the door is always wide open. We do hope you know that. We don't talk about you with Rachel much, because we don't want to confuse or upset her, but I know that she would love you. Just like we love you._

_Hoping that you're well and able to write back if you see this. Here's my cell number: __419-204-9426__. Call anytime._

_All our love always,_

_Hiram and Leroy'_

Shelby's in tears by the time she finishes reading. God, how the hell, _why_ the hell did she ever let it get to this point? They are the best men in the world, with the patience and hearts of saints, and she is… Well, in comparison, she's disgusting.

"Stop it," Cassie says, wiping her thumb over Shelby's tearstained cheek.

"Stop what?"

"Beating yourself up over the past. I can literally see you doing it."

"I'm not," Shelby protests weakly, but her voice trembles.

"They love you. You guys are family."

"_Were_," Shelby corrects quickly. "We were family."

Cassie sighs and strokes Shelby's head comfortingly. It's all she can think to do right now. "Why don't you just give them a call?"

"I can't," Shelby says firmly. "I really, honestly can't."

"Okay, okay," Cassie soothes quickly, feeling the woman's breaths becoming fast and ragged. "What about a text?"

Shelby's eyes meet hers, filled with tears and worry. "Okay," she whispers finally. "I'll send a text."

She copies the number from the email and opens up her Messages app. Thumbs shaking and heart pounding, she types out a quick message.

'_Hiram? I'm so sorry for everything. Can we please talk? It's about Rachel. All my love, Shelby.'_

She holds the phone up so Cassie can see. When she gets an approving nod, she presses send and immediately flings the phone down onto the coffee table. She brings her hands up to her face and sobs quietly into them.

"Hey, it's okay, babe," Cassie whispers softly. "It's all going to be okay."

Suddenly, a buzzing from Shelby's phone cuts through her soft cries. Her stomach clenches: it's less nervous butterflies and more a stampede of buffalo with clinical anxiety.

"Oh, _God_," she moans, reaching across for the device.

_Message to __419-204-9426__ failed to send._

Shelby lets out a shaky breath and hits the retry button. A slight pause, then:

_Message to __419-204-9426__ failed to send._

"Weird," she mutters, frowning at the screen.

"He probably got a new number," Cassie suggests. "Why don't you just email him?"

"Right," Shelby says, nodding. She copies the message, pastes it into a new email and types Hiram's email address in quickly.

"Done," she whispers, before turning to Cassie. "Thank you."

Cassie shrugs nonchalantly and hands her the bottle of wine back. "Anytime, Shelbs. Was there for you then. Am here for you now."

Shelby tilts the bottle back and takes a few generous gulps. She nuzzles her head into Cassie's stomach and lets the warmth of her friend soothe her. "I actually thought I was going to shit myself," she says with a wry grin.

Catching her reference, Cassie smirks back at her. "Yeah. Been there, done that."

* * *

_Fifteen Years Ago_

"I think I might actually shit myself. I might actually just get onstage and shit."

"Before or after 'On My Own'?"

"I haven't decided yet."

Shelby let out a laugh before slumping down on her bench. She'd come out here to the bench at the back of their school auditorium during every rehearsal break. It was definitely _her_ bench now. She stared at the overcast evening sky for a few seconds before shooting a glance back up at her friend.

"You won't actually shit yourself, Cass."

Cassie took a seat next to her, playing with the hem of her sweatshirt. "Maybe not. But I really do feel like it."

Without sitting up, Shelby reached out her hand and laid it in her friend's lap. "You don't need to be nervous. You're great, you're perfect for the part. Miss Hastings wouldn't have given it to you if you couldn't handle it. Besides, you had the lead last year and then you barely left the stage! You didn't shit your pants onstage then."

Cassie sighed. "That was different! Adelaide's all about the dancing. Dancing, I can do."

"And singing you can do too!"

"Easy for you to say."

Shelby knew she wasn't getting anywhere with this. "Well, I'm nervous too."

"Really?"

"Really."

In fact, Shelby wasn't sure she'd _ever_ been this nervous about a performance before. And that was saying something. She'd been performing for as long as she could remember. The butterflies still flooding her stomach had kicked in a couple of weeks ago, and all through tech week she'd felt as though she could puke at any moment. She had a few times, running from the auditorium into the disabled restroom right behind the stage, collapsing onto the floor and spilling the meagre contents of her stomach.

Cassie reached down into her bag and produced a packet of cigarettes. She drew one and placed it between her lips before tilting the box in Shelby's direction. Her friend simply raised her eyebrows and shook her head.

"They'll kill your voice, Cass," Shelby said disapprovingly. "And your lungs." She wasn't quite sure when exactly she had morphed into her mother. The thought was enough to turn her stomach once more.

Cassie simply shrugged, lighting the cigarette and taking a long drag. She blew the smoke into the air and watched as it spiralled up in quivering columns. "They aways get my bowels moving. I need to shit before the half-hour call and April hogs the bathroom to do her warm ups."

Shelby smirked. It was common knowledge that ending up in a dressing room with April, and by consequence a bathroom, meant that you weren't getting in there at all before the show started. As Eponine and Cosette respectively, Cass and April were sharing this year while Shelby was in with Becca, a senior playing Madame Thenardier. She only thinly concealed her hatred of Shelby and her friends, resentful of the fact that the sophomore and junior girls had been cast in the principal roles.

Shelby didn't care: as April constantly reminded them, when they were big Broadway stars, age didn't matter, only talent did. Saying this particularly loudly in front of Becca and her cronies during an early rehearsal hadn't done much to ease tensions.

"Hastings will have you strung up if she catches you with that."

Cassie just laughed. "She loves me _far _too much to do that." Shelby rolled her eyes. "Besides, I'm pretty sure I saw her sneaking out the fire escape for one the other night after Sean botched the last note of _Stars_." She sniggered at the memory and Shelby sat up shooting her a frown.

"Don't, Cass. You know how upset he was about that."

Shelby did all too well, she'd spent the whole break they'd been given where the interval would have fallen in her boyfriend's dressing room trying to console him. She'd told Cassie about that later when they were backstage waiting to go on for the epilogue scene.

What she hadn't let her friend in on was the way Sean had seemed to reject her comforts. She'd attempted to reassure him that everyone screwed up from time to time, that he just had to make sure he warmed his voice up thoroughly. He had bit back that she wouldn't know anything about that.

_"Don't patronise me, Shell. You don't know how this feels. Shelby Corcoran doesn't make mistakes," _he'd chided, spitting out her name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Later, when he was driving her home, he'd apologised, telling her how stressed he was and that he hadn't meant to upset her. She forgave him with a kiss, promising him that she'd show up for the extra lunchtime rehearsal Miss Hastings was making him attend. Then she slipped into her house, threw the dinner her mother had left out for her in the outside garbage and cried herself to sleep.

"He just better not fuck it up again."

"He won't."

Cassie seemed satisfied by this and pulled again on her cigarette, blowing it out in a thick stream.

"Ew, Cass, do _not _blow that at me. It's making me feel nauseous," Shelby said, fanning a hand between her face and the cigarette. She suppressed a gag and took a sip from the water bottle next to her, trying to settle her stomach.

"Well _there's_ a surprise," Cassie deadpanned. Shelby flicked her eyes up with a scowl.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Cassie shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm just saying, everything seems to make you want to barf lately. My smoke, April's hairspray, that pizza we ordered the other night." Shelby bit her lip and considered her friend's words. "Are you sure you're not-."

"No," Shelby quickly interrupted. She didn't need to hear the rest of what Cassie was going to say to know that it wasn't true, it _couldn't _be true.

"But Shelbs, you've been getting sick at smells, you're even more moody than normal." That earned her a sharp glare. "And your costume…" Cassie trailed off. She knew she had to tread carefully now. More so than with anyone else. But Cassie July didn't really _do _treading carefully. "Your costume didn't fit last week."

Shelby shot up from the bench and wrapped her arms tightly around herself defensively. She knew what had happened with the costume; it had been playing in a constant loop around her head since the incident. The words of poor girl from the stage crew squeaking out that she couldn't get Shelby's factory worker dress to zip up around her abdomen were still echoing through her ears. She heard them every time she went to take a bite of food, and it always made her lower her fork, declaring that she no longer felt hungry.

Brushing that to the side for now, she faced Cassie. "So what? I'm nervous about the play and I feel sick! I've put on some weight? Fine, maybe- I don't know! I've probably been stress eating." A lie. "I don't see what the big deal is!" Another lie, which stings like bile in her mouth. "I thought that's what you all wanted anyway," she finishes in a mutter, looking pointedly down at the ground and scuffing her boot against the gravel.

It's at this that Cassie stubbed out her cigarette on the arm of the bench and hurried to her friend's side. "Shelbs," she said softly, running a hand along the girl's arm, still tensed against her side. Shelby flinched slightly at the touch and refused to look up. "I'm not saying any of this to criticise you. I'm just worried."

When Shelby's eyes did finally meet hers, they were cold and narrowed. "You don't need to be."

"Shelbs," Cassie started again, but stopped when Shelby wrenched her body away and turned decisively back towards the auditorium doors.

"I'm going to find Sean."

Biting her tongue to remark that of _course_ Shelby would rather go to him. The person who had a way of affirming her own worst thoughts about herself, no matter his intentions, rather than her supposed best friend. Cassie tried one last time. "Have you taken a test?"

Shelby stopped abruptly and spun on her heel. "You don't know anything, Cass. So just shut it, okay?"

Cassie scoffed. "I don't know _anything_? About you? You and I both know that's not true, Shelbs."

"What, so I'm not allowed to have secrets now? Should I let you know every time I have to go potty, Cass? You wanna come wipe my ass for me?"

Cassie isn't sure she's ever seen Shelby so angry. Definitely not since the intervention. The day when Cassie, April, their friend Joey, their guidance counsellor, and, much to Cassie's annoyance, Sean, sat Shelby down in the guidance office and gave her an ultimatum: either she went to see a doctor about her eating, or they would be telling her parents.

Shelby had given them all a lesson in the A-Z of curse words, punched a wall, screamed a little, before finally falling, sobbing, into Cassie's arms and agreeing to get help. Cassie couldn't stop herself from shooting Sean a small, smug smirk over her friend's shoulder.

"Please don't shut me out again, Shelby." She could see her friend begin to waver, her bottom lip trembling. "_Please_."

And then tears began to spill down Shelby's cheeks, and Cassie only just caught her in time to lessen the blow on the gravelled tarmac as she collapsed to her knees.

"What is it, Shelbs? Are you, you know?" A pause while Cassie swallowed hard. "Are you _pregnant_?" At that word, Shelby's sobs increased tenfold and Cassie wrapped her arms tightly around her shaking form. "It'll be okay if you are. I promise, I'll be there, I'll help you."

Shelby shook her head when she finally came up for air. She wiped a hand over her blotchy cheeks. "I'm not, Cass. I _can't _be."

"You might be though, and if you take a test and you are then-."

"No," Shelby said firmly, forcing away the lump in her throat as best she could. "It's not that I just don't think I am, or that I don't want to be. It's that I really can't be. I- I stopped getting my period."

Cassie frowned. She may not have been much good at biology, but even she knew that that was, like, the number one symptom of being pregnant.

"I stopped getting them a couple of months before you guys made me go see a doctor. She said it was most likely due to malnutrition, that I wasn't ovulating anymore. She said that it would restart once I was back at…" She paused, squeezing her eyes tightly shut; she still hadn't come to terms with everything, not yet. "Once I'm back at a healthy weight." Her eyes had filled with tears again, and she relented when Cassie traced her thumb across her hollow cheekbones, swiping the fallen ones away. "So I'm not pregnant, Cass. And I don't think I ever will be."

"Oh, Shelbs," Cassie murmured as she enveloped her friend in another tight hug. She hesitantly took a breath while running her fingers through Shelby's long, dark hair. "But are you sure? I mean, shouldn't you just take a test anyway? Just to know for certain?"

Shelby's watery eyes met hers as she pulled away. "I can't."

"Why? You're not well, Shelbs. So if you're not, you know, _pregnant_, there might be something else wrong with you."

"Everyone _knows _what else is wrong with me," she said bitterly.

Cassie smiled sadly. "But we know you can get better too." She felt her friend stiffen beneath her and pulled her in tighter. "Did you and Sean use protection?"

"I don't know. Sometimes…" she trailed off. Before Cassie could jump down her throat about it, she spoke again. "I know- stupid. I fucked up. I don't need to hear that from you too."

"You're not stupid, Shelby. But I really do think you should take a test. I'll go and get one for you, if you like, and you can take it whenever you're ready. You can come over to my house, I know you probably wouldn't want to do it at yours."

Shelby squeezed her friend tighter. "You're the best, you know that, Cass?"

"I've heard it once or twice before."

* * *

She had taken the test two days later, and her life had completely changed. The doctors had never been able to confirm exactly what had happened. It was presumed that her menstrual cycle had restarted, but she'd become pregnant before she could have another period.

Whatever the case was, Shelby had looked down at the two lines on the stick in Cassie's bathroom, and nothing was ever the same again.

Two hours after Shelby hit send on the email, her and Cassie are deep into a bottle of gin from Shelby's liquor cabinet. They're both in tears from laughing at old memories and from watching the last scene of _Titanic_ four times on repeat. And, of course, from being totally wasted.

They're so drunk, in fact, that neither of them see that Shelby's email never went through. It bounced right back from the terminated email address.

Something was going on with trying to contact the Berrys. Something bad.

* * *

_**A/N: Whoooooosh. That was a long one. Do you guys like that, or would you prefer them shorter? **_

_**Anyway, finally we have a few answers, right? So this chapter didn't actually end up reaching the point I thought it would- hence the title change. But I really hoped you enjoyed it! I struggled through the Rachel/Jesse scene and the Cassie/Shelby literally just wrote itself. Thoughts on the texting bit? Just wanted a quicker way to get through Shelby's day.**_

_**If anyone cares, here's a little Sparknotes of important/my favourite things to look out for in future chapters: Noah, the woman at Rachel's house, Shelby's 12th birthday, Sean (!), the deets of Shelby's relationship with the Berry men, her part in Les Mis- wonder whether you can guess who she might have been playing? **_

_**Next one will be up soon. Hope everyone had a happy Halloween- I forced my friends to rewatch the Wicked 15 Year Special with me while very drunk. **_

_**Reviews are always loved and appreciated! **_


	4. Lifeboat

_**Chapter 4: Lifeboat**_

Shelby Corcoran has often felt as though she's floating on a ship out in the middle of the ocean with no idea how to get back to land. Or maybe 'ship' is too generous. Perhaps a better assessment would be a life raft, or a dinghy. Something small, anyway, and precarious. A vessel that could sink under at any moment, no matter how hard she tries to scoop up the salty water. It runs right through her fingers and puddles around her feet, dragging her down further into the icy waves. She flashes the emergency light, sends sparks up into the air, but no one ever sees her. And if they do, they don't come to her rescue.

Back in New York, just after she'd found herself homeless once more and crashing on April's lumpy couch, she'd described this scenario to a therapist. Dr. Blake had seemed intently interested in it, and asked Shelby for all of the gory details. A month or so later, when Shelby had already packed up her emotional baggage and moved in with a different, more sympathetic therapist, she'd found the whole story relayed back to her in Dr. Blake's_ New York Times _article: 'Trauma and Metaphor'. The painstakingly detailed personal anecdotes had smacked Shelby in the face and shredded any self-worth she had left.

The lawyers had told her that, since she wasn't identified by name or likeness, there was simply nothing she could do about it. She stopped going to therapy for two years.

This image, that she'd seen playing out in her mind so many times it had become like a faithful companion, then began to haunt her dreams. The boat, with its taunting promise of rescue, always comes right before she drowns. The dream starts there, but she _knows _she's about to drown- call it sleeper's intuition. She climbs on board and looks around anxiously at the storming water surrounding her. That's a constant. The weather changes, though. Sometimes it's the dead of night, and she shivers as the chilly ocean winds prick at her damp skin. Occasionally, she finds herself in a tropical non-paradise, the sun beating relentlessly down from above until she thinks that maybe the best thing to do would be to just launch herself back into the water.

Mostly, as is the case tonight, she's an observer of the scene, watching from above like an omniscient god. But one that's been stripped of any power to intervene. She observes herself scrambling onboard, spitting out the salt water which has entered her mouth. Immediately, she's dry, and she lays down in the middle of the boat, trying desperately to catch her breath. She leans up on her elbows and looks around for a source of help, but there's no one there. The waves begin to pick up and the boat swings wildly from side-to-side like a pendulum, or like the swinging balls of a Newton's Cradle. Her father used to have one on his desk when she was a little girl and she could never resist giving it a push, starting a chain reaction, setting things into motion with just one flick of a child's finger.

The dream-version of herself grasps onto the side of the boat, trying to steady herself, but is knocked backwards and forwards by a force far out of her control. As a particularly strong wave crashes over her, she reaches down and lifts at the hem of her sweater. In a swift movement, as she's splashed again by a wash of salty foam, she tugs it completely off, leaving her in a yellow dress. Shelby watches herself lie back down on the boat, the waves pounding her and drenching the dress instantly, turning the bright yellow into more of a putrid orange. Water starts to fill the boat, but still she just lies there, letting it fall onto her. The only protection she offers herself is to shut her eyes tightly against the stinging liquid; hot tears trail down her cheeks from where it had caught her though. They are salty too.

The space between her legs fills with water, which laps back and forth like it's creating its own wave pattern. Sea foam collects on the bottom of her dress and the insides of her thighs, but still Shelby just keeps her eyes screwed shut. The boat is filling quickly now, covering her splayed legs, her arms, her chest, and it rises up the side of her face. She wills herself to take a deep breath so that she'll last for longer, but she doesn't.

And then it's too late. The water has covered her mouth, her nose and it runs over the lids of her closed eyes.

She's got to wake up. This is when she _always_ wakes up.

The boat shudders under the weight of the water, and Shelby watches despairingly, powerlessly, as it begins to sink into the depths of the ocean. She wants to scream, but her own mouth stays clamped shut. Her vision focuses in on her desperate face as she watches the water creeping up her nostrils. Suddenly, her eyes flick open, filled with sheer terror. But they aren't _her_ eyes; they're big and brown and too overwhelmingly familiar.

They're Rachel's eyes.

Shelby awakes with a start, sitting up and gasping for air that doesn't seem to want to enter her lungs. She leans her head down on her chest and forces her eyes closed again. The bed is rocking back and forth and her head fills with a pounding pain every time her heart beats. She waits for a few, tentative seconds until she feels her body starting to relax again and slowly lifts her face.

It takes a couple of groggy blinks for the room to come into focus and for her tired eyes to adjust to the bright lights. Nobody had closed the blinds last night, and the fall morning sunlight streams into her bedroom, mockingly crisp and clear. She glances down and sees that she's still wearing the sweatshirt she'd thrown on before Cassie arrived the previous evening. But her legs are bare. Her mouth is torturously dry and tastes like stale wine, acidic and unrelenting.

She pulls her knees into her chest and wraps her hands tightly around her legs, trying to squeeze her broken body back into one coherent form. Her limbs ache like she's been hit by a car, or maybe a truck, and her chest feels unusually tight. She knows she's just had a nightmare, though she can't quite recall its details in her fuzzy head right now, but even so: her chest feels weird. A quick look at the dresser across from her confirms her worst suspicions.

Cassie's trusty pack of cigarettes and 'I Heart NY' lighter are lying, discarded, among her cluttered makeup collection. Shelby groans and coughs a few times, as though she's trying to push all of last night's toxicity up and back out through her airways.

The other side of the bed is empty, but a look at the rumpled sheets and traces of black mascara smeared over her white pillowcases tells her that Cassie must have passed out right there next to her.

Shelby sighs and gently lowers her body back into a lying position, pulling the covers back over her. She's still for perhaps a minute, before the spinning sensation starts up again with a renewed vigour and she feels an unwelcome churning in her stomach.

With her hand pressed against her mouth, she scrambles out of bed and runs into the ensuite bathroom, just in time to have the toilet collect the vomit spilling out of her.

"_Ugh_," she moans, leaning her clammy forehead up against the porcelain. It soothes her in that strange way only the toilet can after throwing up. Maybe that's something unique to her, she's not sure.

"Um- do you _mind_?"

Shelby rotates her head slightly, still not breaking contact with the cool surface, towards the shower where a wet-haired Cassie is scowling at her. She hadn't even noticed that it was running.

It's times like these that she regrets having a walk-in shower with only a pane of glass separating it from the rest of the bathroom. Cassie has her arms folded across her chest, though it appears that this is more out of grumpiness than trying to protect her modesty. She's doing nothing to cover up her lower half.

Shelby doesn't pay it much mind; she's been treated to the view of a naked Cassandra July more times than she would care to admit. Alas, her stomach clearly doesn't get this memo, and the sight prompts her to lower her head into the toilet basin once more. The final remnants of last night's drinks meet their fate with a disgruntled _splash_.

"Oh, for _fuck's_ sake, Corcoran!" Cassie shouts from her steamy prison, banging one fist on the glass and using the other hand to gesticulate wildly. Yep, modesty really wasn't her worry. "What the hell happened to you?"

Shelby frowns up at her, the pounding in her head making it very hard to come up with a sarcastic reply. "I threw up?"

"Yeah- during _my _fucking shower! Get out!" Cassie shouts, before spinning back round and heaping Shelby's very expensive conditioner onto the palm of her hand.

Shelby gets shakily to her feet, grasping onto the toilet seat for support. She presses the flush and winces at the sound of the whirling water. "Yeah, well it's _my _bathroom," she grumbles.

Cassie either doesn't hear her, or doesn't deem this worthy of response. She just picks up Shelby's razor and begins to shave her body. Her _entire _body, Shelby notes with another repressed gag.

Time to burn _that_ razor. Or maybe just the whole shower at this point.

"Enjoying the show?" Cassie calls without turning back around.

Shelby rolls her eyes- painfully- and goes to leave the bathroom, stopping only briefly to grab her tube of toothpaste from the mug next to her sink.

She sits on the edge of her bed and squeezes a large clump of the stuff straight out into her mouth. It's disgustingly minty, but that's a lot better than the taste of her puke. Somehow gin and Doritos just don't hit the same spot coming back up the other way. She adds a little water from the cup on her nightstand and begins to swill.

As the mixture turns into a foam, she grabs her phone- which has been unceremoniously dumped on the floor next to Cassie's bra- and scrolls through her notifications.

_07:39: Hope you two had fun last night, though not too much fun. I love you and I hope you feel better today. -L _

_10:53: Shelbs- tell me why I woke up to a video of you and Cass screaming 'Anything Goes' in your underwear! You're supposed to let me know when there's something fun going on so I can jump on a plane and be there too. Bitches. It's not a proper drunk karaoke night without Auntie April and you know it._

She grins at nickname April had bestowed upon herself at school. Somehow, she seemed to think that being a year older than Shelby and Cassie granted her supreme wisdom and superiority. It's a shame her actions never showcased it.

There's a couple of work emails, and a message from Jesse with a list of solos he's sure he would kill at Sectionals. From his sloppy writing, she's certain he must have been almost as drunk as she was.

But there's nothing in her personal email.

She refreshes it four times just to make sure before clicking back into her sent box to make sure the whole thing wasn't some kind of crazy fever-dream. It's only then that she sees the 'incomplete delivery' notification. Furrowing her brow, she tries a few times to resend it, only to be met with the same, uncaring warning sign flashing up at her.

_'Delivery cannot be completed as the user has terminated this address.' _

The phone falls through her grasp and onto the carpeted floor with a muffled bang. Had they done this because of _her_? Surely not… But, then again, she had never replied before. Maybe they had decided enough was enough and had made it so she wouldn't be able to contact them, even if she wanted to. Her eyes sting with tears which she decides to blame on the toothpaste still in her mouth. Cassie hasn't left the bathroom yet, but she goes back in anyway so she can spit the burning liquid out.

The shower has finally stopped running and, through the thick steam, she can see Cassie standing on the bath mat, drying herself down with Shelby's fluffy grey towel. She empties her mouth into the sink, gargles back some water and glares at her friend.

"You couldn't have gone to get a spare one out of the cupboard?"

Cassie glares right back. "No. That's your job as hostess."

"I think 'hostess' is only the applicable term if I actually _invited _you into my home."

"Yeah, well you can blame lover boy for that one," Cassie says, raising her eyebrows at Shelby as she rubs the towel slowly against her crotch.

"Oh, I do. Believe me. You two can split the bill for the new razor _and_ new towel I'm going to have to buy."

Cassie flicks some wet hair over her shoulder. "Oh _puh-lease_. Can you, for once in your life, not be so damn dramatic?"

Shelby scoffs and places a hand over her chest, her expression of mock-horror silently asking, '_Who? Me?'_

"Yes, _you._ My favourite little drama queen."

Shelby pouts and hitches herself up onto the counter as Cassie moves to use the mirror. "Oh- about that. Guess who sent me a grumpy text asking why we didn't invite _her_ to join in last night's shenanigans?"

Cassie reaches for Shelby's tweezers and begins to pluck at her sculpted brows. "April needs to grow up," she says, but she's smiling fondly. "On the other hand, I _do _need someone around here who can actually hold their drink. You are a big, fat failure, Shelby Corcoran." She points towards the toilet and gags exaggeratedly.

Ironically, Shelby's said that exact same sentence to herself many times. Indeed, many times over that exact toilet. This time, however, she just shakes her head with a smug grin. "I held it last night, didn't I?" Actually- she can't quite remember whether she did. "_Didn't I_?"

Cassie shrugs and drags her left eyebrow up to reach a stubborn hair. "Your guess is as good as mine, babe." She pulls at the hair in one, swift motion before wiping it onto Shelby's towel. "There's no puke downstairs, though. So if you did you've got awesome aim."

"Oh, I'll put that one on the ol' CV: '_Can shoot for the toilet while absolutely shit-faced.'_"

Cassie laughs. "Have I ever mentioned that I _love_ that you're a teacher?"

"No," Shelby frowns, "you haven't. In fact, I believe you choked on your drink when I said I'd got the job and told me I was now 'frumpy' and 'never going to have sex again'."

"In my defence, you hadn't told me about Professor Handsome yet, so I was just working with the information I had."

"His name is Luke."

"And he's a handsome professor."

Shelby just rolls her eyes and watches as Cassie strains to extract a non-existent out of place hair.

"So, you've already been on your phone, have you?" Cassie asks, casually. Except it's not casual at all, especially when accompanied by the pointed look she's shooting her.

Shelby looks down at her lap. "Yep."

"And?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing," she confirms with a sigh. "I… Do you- Do you think maybe they've blocked me or something?"

Cassie frowns, pulling the tweezers down mid-pluck. She lets out a sharp yelp of pain before turning to face Shelby properly. "What?"

"My email didn't even go through. And neither did the texts. Like, I just don't know what else to make of it. Maybe they've really had enough of me never getting back to them like-"

"Shelbs," Cassie quickly interrupts, "they _love_ you. They wouldn't do that to you. Never ever."

"But it doesn't make sense," Shelby whispers. Her eyes are once more stinging with tears and this time there's no toothpaste to blame it on.

Cassie cocks her head in consideration. "Maybe Hiram's phone got hacked or something? And he had to change all of his contact information?"

"Hiram Berry, the accountant from Ohio? Oh yes, I hear the CIA have been _dying_ to get into _his_ phone."

Cassie raises her hands in defence, the tweezers glinting against the light above the mirror. "Was only a suggestion," she mutters.

Shelby sighs, leaning back against the tiled wall. "I just don't know what to think. Or to do." She shifts and looks straight into Cassie's eyes. "What would you do if you were me?"

"Have a strong drink."

"_Cass_."

"Okay, okay," Cassie sighs. "Well, let's think about this logically. Rachel's just transferred to the school right?"

Biting back the sarcastic retort, _'She has? I must have missed that_', Shelby merely nods. "Right."

"So surely the school will have her emergency contacts or something? Why don't you just look at her records?"

"And how do you propose I get a hold of them? They don't exactly leave them lying around in the hallways, you know."

Cassie mutters something that sounds a lot like, _'Jesus, I have to do everything around here.' _She shuts up when Shelby smacks her on the arm.

"Ouch- fine! I don't know?" She scratches her head with the tweezers. "Wait- who's that guy who keeps trying to get into your pants? Jake, or something?"

"James," Shelby says with a grimace.

"Okay, so why don't you go flirt with James, and come up with an excuse to get you into wherever it is the records are kept? He won't turn you down. I saw the way he was looking at you at that Christmas party."

"That's ridic-…" Shelby trails off as she really thinks it over. Maybe that _could_ actually work. "That's not a bad idea. You're actually pretty smart, Cass."

Cassie beams at her. "Give me one second, and then I want you to repeat that _loudly_ and _slowly_ once I've got my mother on the phone."

"On second thoughts…," Shelby laughs, raising an eyebrow.

"Ugh." Cassie leans across the counter and grabs Shelby's chin in her hands. "If you're going to give me the 'Scary Corcoran Eyebrow', at least let me pluck them first."

"Hey- my eyebrows are _fine!_"

Cassie pulls a face. A mean one. "Yeah, right. C'mon, Shelbs, they're so thick I can practically hear them singing Hanukkah carols."

"We don't have Hanuk-." She stops when Cassie starts impatiently drumming the tweezers on the countertop. "Okay, alright! Pluck away."

000

All weekend, Shelby had felt that Monday couldn't come quick enough so that she could put her and Cassie's master plan into action. Now that it's here, however, and she's walking through the hallways to James's office, she thinks she would quite like to be back in bed watching reruns of '_Say Yes to the Dress' _and drinking Bloody Marys.

She hesitates outside his door; this is the first time she's voluntarily set foot anywhere remotely _near_ here, and she could really think of a million better ways to spend her lunchtime.

_It's for Rachel_, she reminds herself quickly. _You're doing this for Rachel_.

As she knocks, she realises that there's absolutely no one else in the world she would put herself through this for. Even Luke, who had just guffawed down the phone when she'd explained the plan. She hadn't been shy in telling him that, especially following _that_ outburst, she'd quite happily leave him to burn alive rather than ask James for help.

"Come in," his voice calls from inside the office. Shelby shudders. How does he manage to make a simply statement like that sound so creepy? It's truly a talent.

"Hi," she says, putting on a broad smile as she steps inside.

James looks as surprised to see her standing there as she feels. She's sure the top of his bald head gets even shinier and even pinker as he takes in her appearance. At Cassie's -and Luke's- insistence, she's wearing a tight, black blouse that's usually reserved for nights out at a bar. '_And make sure to leave the top four buttons undone,' _she had heard Cassie's voice telling her as she got dressed that morning. It's accompanied by a dark pencil skirt that Luke shrunk in the dryer once, and dark red heels.

In short, she feels like she's gone as every teenage boy's wet dream for Halloween.

"Well, Miss Corcoran, this is a lovely surprise for a Monday lunchtime," James says, his eyes leering. He stands to beckon her down into the chair opposite his desk and Shelby swears she sees something moving in his pants. Still, she sits. _It's for Rachel,_ the voice in her head reminds her again. If she needed anymore confirmation that she's a definitively crappy mother, this just might be it. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Would saying, '_The pleasure is all mine_' be laying it on too thick? Probably.

"I was wondering whether you'd be able to help me out, James," she says, as sweetly as possible. She crosses her legs and leans forwards so that her elbow is on her knee and her chin is resting on her hand. It's not a position she's ever sat in before, at least not for a while, but Cassie had assured her it was the best way to 'subtly' be seductive. "See, I'm in a bit of a… _sticky_ situation."

James gulps, and goes to run a hand through his hair. Unfortunately, said hair deserted him decades ago, and so he just strokes his sweaty head. "Um- of course. What is it that I can do for you, Miss Corcoran?"

"Call me, Shelby," she says with a coy smile.

"Oh- okay. _Shelby_, then. What can I do for you, _Shelby_?" He says her name like it's the sweetest thing to ever pass his lips. If she wasn't so revolted, she might actually feel a little sorry for him.

"Do you remember last week when you came to me about the transfer student? Rachel Barry?"

"Rachel Berry," James corrects.

"_Oops_," Shelby giggles. She taps the side of her head like the perfect incapable woman. "Silly me! Yes, Rachel _Berry. _Well, as it turns out, she's a very talented student. So much so, that I would just _love _to recruit her for Vocal Adrenaline."

Even James seems to recognise that this is categorically a Big Deal. "Oh- wow. That's great, Shelby."

"Yes, it is," she says, fluttering her eyelashes. "But I just have a teensy-weensy little problem."

"Oh?" James is sweating even more now. This truly could not be going better.

"Yes. See, I would _love _to make Rachel one of my star performers, but in order to do that, I'm going to need to contact her family. Just to discuss the rehearsal schedule and things. I'm sure you've heard it can be a little… How should I put this… demanding?"

Another giggle. One she's sure sets the entire feminist movement back a good fifty years.

"Okay," James replies. "So what can I help you with?"

"Well," Shelby stage-whispers, bringing her lips into a small smile and leaning further forward. "I was rather hoping to keep Rachel's 'star' position a little secret for now. And then I'm going to surprise her with it!" She widens her eyes in excitement and looks hopefully up at James. "So I just wanted to call home and have the necessary chats without letting Rachel in on it. I think she'll _love _the surprise!"

She bounces a little in her seat, clapping her hands together. James pauses. His gaze drops from Shelby's eyes and meets her rather exposed chest for a second. Running his tongue over his lips, he looks back to her and nods.

Hook, line and sinker.

"Yes, I'm sure that could be arranged."

"Oh- _thank you!_ That's so kind of you!"

He smiles lewdly. "That's what I'm here for, Shelby. To help you in _any_ way I can." Shelby suppresses a gag. She _cannot_ fall at the final hurdle. "Tell you what," he says, jumping to his feet and walking over to his filing cabinet, "I'll give you my key to the records room."

Yep, there's some definite movement in those pants.

Shelby quickly takes the key he's offering out to her and springs up out of the chair. "Thanks," she says, flashing him one last grin. "I'll bring it back later." _When you are far, far away._

"I look forward to it!" he calls after her as she ducks out of the door.

000

With Rachel's personal file tucked into her purse, and a strange mixture of nerves and satisfaction dancing round her stomach, Shelby hurries back through the halls of Carmel High towards her office. She couldn't bring herself to open up the file then and there. Not when the secretary was already flashing her dirty looks for _daring_ to go through her immaculately organised filing cabinets. Her face hadn't softened from the steely frown for the entire three minutes that Shelby had been in the students' records room, searching for her daughter's name among the hundreds of other students. The fact that she was using James's personal key didn't go unnoticed either, and the woman had looked her up and down entirely disapprovingly.

Once she's safe within the solitary confines of her office, she lays the paper file down on the desk and just stares at it for a second. The little sticky label in the top corner stares menacingly back up at her.

_'Rachel Barbra Berry, 05/23/2005' _

It somehow doesn't feel right that she has to stoop to this level, to have to lie her way into her own daughter's records. She could tell the story of the girl's name. How her, Hiram and Leroy would spend _hours_ watching boxsets of _Friends_ that Shelby had never been allowed to watch at her own house. Or how whenever teenage Shelby's pregnancy hormones had gotten the best of her and she'd stormed away from the two men, the only thing that would lure her back downstairs and put a smile on her face was if they cranked up a Barbra Streisand CD to its full volume and sang. She would, of course, immediately emerge and tell them that they were singing completely off-key, offering to show them how it was _really _done.

She could describe Rachel's birth like it was yesterday. Her waters had broken in the middle of the night and she'd gone into labour three weeks early. But by the time they were at the hospital, the baby had taken her sweet time with making an appearance, and Shelby hadn't delivered her for almost a full thirty hours. Hiram and Leroy had found that to be _just_ hilarious; they told Shelby that only _her_ daughter would be that stubborn.

But none of that seems to count for anything. Those stories are reduced to just a simple label on top of a file that Shelby has had to practically steal.

She brushes her thoughts away with a shake of her head. That doesn't matter. All that matters is that now she can open it up, find a way to contact those men, and start the process of reentering her daughter's life properly.

Her painted black fingernails trace the edge of the cream file for a few seconds as she gathers herself with a shaky breath. _Here goes nothing. _

There's not much writing on the sheet of paper inside at all. A list of allergies Shelby already knew about- she can all too clearly remember the great kiwi fiasco of '06-, Rachel's current class schedule, and her emergency contact information.

It's this, of course, that Shelby is most interested in. But it's also what makes her heart stop beating in her chest. An address for a place a little outside of Lima, two phone numbers she doesn't recognise, and a name which sends a wave of shock surging through her stomach.

_Linda Goldstein (Grandmother)_

Shelby's hands jerk back from the paper as if it's suddenly been lit on fire. Her vision blurs until all she can see is those three words, the rest of the black ink dissolving into one dancing smear. She reads them over and over again, and, even when she shuts her eyes tightly to ward off the sting of tears threatening to fall out, she can see them imprinted into her mind.

She's only met the woman once at Hiram's thirty-fifth birthday party, but even then she could tell that the man _hated_ his mother with a passion. It was the reason why he'd been so eager to change his name to his husband's the second they were married. Apparently, she'd never approved of his sexuality, going so far as to suggest that he simply tried to ignore it, to marry a woman and settle down like she'd always planned for him.

She most certainly didn't seem to approve of her son's decision to move a pregnant teenager into their home and make plans to adopt her baby. She had shot Shelby dirty looks for the entire afternoon, whose severity increased in proportion with the amount of Bourbon which slipped through her lips. For his part, Hiram had tried to keep the two separated, sending Shelby off with Leroy to talk to their friends who were far more reasonable about the unconventional situation. Later, he had come into her bedroom and apologised profusely for his mother's behaviour. He hadn't wanted her there, he said, but had thought that it would be easier to deal with her for a couple of hours then than reap the consequences of not inviting her for weeks to follow.

They hadn't seen her for the rest of Shelby's pregnancy, and she hadn't been there with the rest of Hiram and Leroy's families at the hospital when Rachel was born. She wasn't aware of them having any contact with her for the first two years of Rachel's life either.

So why the _hell_ is she now her daughter's emergency contact? And what's happened to Hiram and Leroy?

Shelby wills herself not to think the worst, she just _can't_. Besides, if anything bad had truly happened, surely she would have been informed? It was written into the men's wills that if anything ever happened meaning they couldn't take care of Rachel, then full custody would go to Shelby.

Or, at least, that was the case twelve years ago. Maybe they'd changed their minds, maybe they really _had_ just got so fed up with her that they'd changed their wills so she wouldn't be reunited with her daughter. Had she fucked up _that_ badly?

_Yes_, she realises with an unwelcome and sudden clarity. Yes, she really had.

In defence, another part of her mind quickly reminds her of the email she'd read only a couple of days ago. Although she hadn't replied, she'd read every email they'd ever sent her. And they hadn't mentioned anything about changing that agreement in any of them. They would have told her, right?

Without meaning to, Shelby finds her fingers entering her mouth as she chews aggressively at any bit of loose flesh she can capture beneath her ravenous teeth. Her thoughts swirling and heart still pounding, mocking her with its determination to remind her that she's still alive, that this is _real_, she gnaws at her own body until she draws blood.

When she tastes the metallic liquid on her tongue, she finally pulls her hands away, watching as a trail of blood runs down the fourth finger of her right hand, settling into the silver band of the ring she wears there. The unapologetic scarlet tear of her self-inflicted injury clashes horribly against the bright emerald stone set into the ring. Rachel's birthstone. It had been a Christmas gift from Luke last year.

The two colours blur into one gaudy mess through her teary vision.

She stares at it until the familiar rumble of music coming from the nearby auditorium penetrates through the sound of her own swirling blood. Her head snaps up towards the door and she groans, knowing that she's going to have to go out and deal with whoever it is that thinks they can just go and parade about _her_ auditorium without express permission.

Grabbing a handful of Kleenex from the box on her desk, she wipes the tears from her face and cleans the blood off her hands. She takes a deep breath and storms out of her office, slamming the door sharply behind her.

She's about to make this kid regret the day they were ever born; today was not the day to be messing with Miss Corcoran. Still, maybe chewing out some big-headed little asshole will be enough to temporarily distract her from her thoughts. She halts in her rampage, however, when she sees the two figures up on the stage.

Because it's not just any big-headed little asshole, it's _her_ big-headed little asshole. And her daughter.

She slinks into the shadows at the back of the auditorium, perching on one of the usher's seats, and watches as Jesse flicks a remote up at the VA speaker system. _Little_ _punk,_ she seethes, _I knew he had a key to my office_. Jesse replaces the remote- which to her knowledge had been lying in one of her desk drawers- and the music starts up, filling the space effortlessly.

Shelby's heart constricts as the opening beats of _Don't Rain on My Parade_ fill her ears. Hiram and Leroy only played this to her when they knew they had to bring out the big guns. Like the time they had finished off her supply of freshly squeezed orange juice and she'd thrown an entirely justifiable tantrum over it.

Rachel strides to centre stage like she owns it, like there's a whole crowd of adoring fans gathered before her. Gone is the slightly shy and tentative girl Shelby has encountered thus far, and in her place is a true performer.

_'Don't tell me not to live, just sit and putter. Life's candy and the sun's a ball of butter._'

As she belts through the song, her eyes sparkling with a newfound vivacity, Shelby has to, once more, fight back tears. It's like she's been taken back sixteen years, like she's watching herself up on that stage, flirting easily with Jesse and letting her voice soar over the music to reach the very back of the auditorium. But it's not her, and that's what makes it even better, and yet so much more painful.

Her daughter is… she can't align her thoughts properly. She's just _extraordinary_.

'_Nobody, no, nobody is gonna rain on my parade_.'

The last note pierces through the air for a few, long moments and Shelby watches in awe. That's her daughter, that's her little baby up there. Yet somehow, Rachel has never felt closer nor further away. It's too much.

She swipes another few tears away and deliberates what to do. Should she jump up and tell Rachel that, obviously, she's made the team? Should she then ask her why the hell she's living with _that_ woman? Should she tell her everything?

Before she can decide, Jesse stands up from where he's been slouching on the piano and holds a bottle of water out to Rachel, whose chest is heaving in exertion.

"So?" she asks breathlessly, face flushed. She accepts the water and sips it slowly.

Jesse shrugs nonchalantly. "It was fine."

_Fine?_ Shelby's about to get up and show _him '_fine'.

"Fine? That's it?" Rachel snaps. Apparently her daughter can hold her own. She shouldn't have expected anything less.

Jesse walks back over to the piano, and casually rifles through some papers that Shelby knows aren't his. She left them there on Friday. "Yeah. You were good, I guess."

Rachel angrily screws the cap back on the bottle and slams it down on the lid of the piano, the sound forcing Jesse to look up at her. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," Jesse says with a scowl. "I'm fine. You were good. I'm sure Shelby will find it satisfactory for your acceptance onto the team."

Rachel stomps her foot in a way that sends Shelby soaring back into the memories of her own teenage years once more. "Satisfactory? Jesse, the only person who can sing that song better than me is Miss Streisand herself." She leans across the piano and glares at him. "This has _nothing_ to do with the song! You're just angry at me for some reason."

Jesse stares her down for a few seconds, before running a hand grumpily through his hair. "Can you blame me, Rachel? Can you _really _blame me? You practically ran away from me on Friday and then today you come seeking my superior advice for your audition."

"I didn't run away from you," she says, though there's a lot less conviction in her tone now. "I just… I didn't want to talk about it."

"Why not? I could help-"

"No you can't. It's nothing to do with you." Her posture softens a little as she draws back. "I'm sorry I dragged you into it."

Jesse quickly crosses to the front of the piano and reaches out to rub his hand over Rachel's arm. "You don't need to apologise for Thursday," he says firmly. "It just worried me."

"It doesn-"

"Rach," he says, swiftly cutting her off, "I know I play a tough act, but I'm actually a good guy deep down. I want to help you."

"I…" Rachel looks down, studying her shoes for a second. "There's nothing to help with, not really."

Jesse scoffs, but it's not harsh, Shelby notes. Nothing about the way he's interacting with Rachel is as harsh as his actions usually are. "There is. One second you're telling me you don't have a mom, and then the next there's some crazy lady screaming at you from the porch of your house. I _know_ there's something up. Something you're not telling me."

Shelby feels her breath catch sharply in her throat, and she brings her hand to her mouth to muffle the coughs that follow. Her insides are stinging with every word that leaves Jesse's lips. Rachel had told him she didn't have a mom? Does she know _anything_ about Shelby? It also brings back the anger that's been raging through her since she read Linda's name. That woman is hurting her baby.

Shelby can't see Rachel's tears from where she's sitting, but she does see her daughter wipe quickly at her eyes with her sleeve, and her heart breaks yet again.

She whispers something inaudible to Jesse, and before the boy can stop her, she's turning and running offstage. The auditorium doors shut with an echoing bang behind her.

Immediately, Shelby is on her feet.

"My office as soon as school finishes, Jess," she calls to him, ignoring the way he practically jumps in the air in surprise.

"Shelby- I-!"

She raises a hand to stop him. "Don't. Just come."

She doesn't wait for his reaction, and quickly runs out of the auditorium after Rachel. After her daughter.

Her stupid red heels clack loudly against the hallway floor as she pushes through the swarms of students wandering slowly to their first afternoon classes. Some jump out of her way with fear in their eyes, while others- the ones clearly lacking in brain cells- dawdle idly in her way until she literally has to push a couple to the side.

"What the hell?" she hears a voice call after her. She doesn't hesitate, she just keeps moving forward, following the shiny brown hair she can see disappearing round a corner.

"Rachel!" she shouts out desperately when a large group of boys blocks her path.

The girl doesn't seem to notice her, and ploughs ahead, eventually turning into the girls' restroom on the left hand side of the corridor.

Shelby disentangles herself from the group, a few of whom have started to leer at her. It's only now that she remembers she's still wearing the 'Operation Seduce James' outfit. Absolutely brilliant: she has to go try to comfort her daughter wearing _this. _She fumbles with the buttons on her blouse as she finally breaks through the crowds and swings open the door to the bathroom.

There are two girls Shelby doesn't recognise lounging on top of the sinks, and the room is filled with an acidic-smelling haze.

Shelby hears a door slamming and the lock being hastily turned from the other end of the bathroom. The two girls look at each other, seemingly not having noticed her yet, and burst out in laughter.

"Wonder what's up with her?" the blonde one says, eyes glinting.

The other one shrugs with a smirk. "Maybe she finally looked in a mirror and saw how ugly her outfit is?"

They laugh again as the blonde one pulls out a small vape pen and brings it to her lips.

Shelby clears her throat, loudly, and glares at them. "Get out."

The blonde's eyes widen as she quickly tries to hide the black cartridge. "But- But Miss _Corcoran_," she whines.

"_B-b-but_," Shelby mocks coldly before hardening her stare and pointing a finger towards the door. "Out. Now."

The girls give each other a quick look of fear and jump off the sinks, scuttling out of the bathroom in a matter of seconds. Shelby can hear them muttering something as they hurry past her, but she doesn't even spare them a second glance. Instead, she heads straight towards the furthest stall and knocks hesitantly on the door. She _knows_ this probably looks odd to an outsider, but right now, she can't bring herself to care. All she cares about are the muffled sobs coming from inside the cubicle.

"Rachel?" she says softly. "Can you open the door, honey? It's just Mo-Miss Corcoran."

She hears shuffling footsteps and the bolt being slid back across. Finally, she comes face-to-face with her crying daughter.

"Oh, sweetie," she whispers before she can stop herself.

"I-I'm sorry," Rachel sniffles, wiping her hand across her blotchy face. She rubs her knuckles deep into her eyes and, with a pang in her chest, Shelby notes that it's the exact movement she always made as a toddler.

"Don't be," Shelby says quickly. She wants nothing more than to reach out and pull the girl into a hug, but she forces her hands to stay by her sides. She _cannot_ do that.

"W-were Jesse and I not supposed to be in there? He said he'd check with you."

"Well he didn't," Shelby mutters. She makes a mental reminder to murder that boy later. And then maybe give him a hug for being so concerned about Rachel.

The girl notices Shelby's hardened gaze, and sobs lightly again. "I'm so sorry."

Shelby shakes her head firmly, and forces a little smile onto her lips. "Hey- it's not your fault. I'm not mad."

"Oh," Rachel says quietly. She goes to rub her face again, and Shelby cringes at the black mascara tracks already coating her cheeks.

"Not like that," she says, catching the girl's arm. "You'll get makeup everywhere." She guides Rachel to the side of the stall and takes a small handful of toilet tissue. "Here."

Rachel takes the tissue with a small nod of thanks and goes to rub her eyes with it. "I- uh- I don't usually do this."

Shelby nods sympathetically. "It's okay."

Rachel begins to smear the tissue across her eyes and, without thinking of what she's doing, Shelby stops her, taking the tissue back into her own hand.

"You want to rub upwards," she says, gently swiping the tissue under her daughter's brown eyes. "Less messy and less puffy."

"Oh," Rachel says again. She looks embarrassed, but allows the older woman to guide dry her face.

"I have experience," Shelby says in an attempt to make her less uncomfortable. Rachel's skeptic look is enough to elicit a small chuckle. "Don't look so surprised. No matter what the VA kids may tell you, I _do_ have a heart deep down."

"I didn't-"

"I'm just kidding," Shelby tells her and Rachel smiles back shyly. "Jesse was wrong, you know."

"What?"

"When he said I'd find your performance 'satisfactory'. I didn't." Rachel's brow furrows so Shelby quickly corrects herself. "You weren't just satisfactory, Rachel. You were _extraordinary_."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Thank you, Miss Corcoran," she grins, and Shelby can feel the heat rising on her cheeks. "That means a lot."

"You're very welcome." She finishes cleaning Rachel's face and leads the girl out of the stall, depositing the dirty tissue into the trash can. "So I guess we don't need to hold your audition later."

Rachel's eyes widen, glistening with leftover tears and hope. "You mean I'm in?"

"Mhm," Shelby says, grinning at the girl's excitement. "You can join the rest of the team for choreography rehearsal later with Mr Stanley."

"Mr Stanley?" Rachel questions.

"Yeah, I get him in for the big performances. He's… _interesting_, but nothing you won't be able to handle, I'm sure."

Rachel scoffs. "Yeah, cause I'm _really_ showing how well I can handle things right now, aren't I?"

"Everyone's entitled to their emotions, Rach," Shelby tells her. She goes into the nearest stall and grabs another handful of paper. Running it under the cold tap for a second, she hands it over to the girl. "It'll help with the redness."

"Thanks," Rachel mutters, her cheeks tinging pink again. She stares at herself in the mirror and wipes the cool tissue over her face. "This always happens to me."

Her voice is so childlike and despondent, that Shelby has to hold back another chuckle. "Yeah you get that fro-." She cuts herself off and bites down on her tongue. _Idiot_. "It happens to a lot of people."

Rachel shrugs, but she looks pacified. "It happened to my dad all the time too."

Shelby tries desperately to keep her face neutral. It was almost exactly what she was going to say. But about another man. Another of Rachel's dads who the girl doesn't even know about.

The off-hand comment hasn't just stirred up Shelby's memories, it's also brought her back around to what she _knows_ she both needs to, and can't, ask about. Rachel's dads.

She takes a deep breath. "Uh- Rachel, I couldn't help but overhear you and Jesse before," she starts.

Rachel looks aghast. "You _heard _that?"

"Yeah," she says. "I - uh… is everything okay?"

"Yes," Rachel replies quickly, assertively. If Shelby wasn't currently throwing away yet another discarded tissue, she might have believed her.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Rachel gets her pink colouring from _him_ and her tendency to deny, deny, deny from Shelby. She really hit the old genetic jackpot.

"Rachel, I-."

"I'm fine. Honestly, Miss Corcoran, I appreciate _this_," she says, gesturing to between the two of them, "but I'm really okay."

"Okay," Shelby parrots.

Rachel readjusts her red headband and puts on a brilliant, but false, smile. "I'll… uh… I guess I'll see you later at rehearsal."

Shelby just nods dumbly and watches her daughter walk away from her and out of the bathroom. "Bye, baby," she whispers as the door swings closed.

For the second time in less than a week, Miss Corcoran's AP lit students are treated to a silent but deadly version of their usually vivacious teacher. She sits at the back of the room, watching impassively as each student stands to give their presentation on one of Shakespeare's sonnets. She wouldn't have been able to say who presented on what, nor exactly how good any of them were, but she resigns herself to giving them all 'A's and, instead, uses the time to plan her next move.

Where to start is obvious: Jesse clearly knows something, and she's more than ready to beat any and all information out of him should the need arise. She'll just threaten to move him to the back row for their sectionals formation and she's sure the secrets will start spilling out.

Exactly _how _to broach the topic is more questionable, however. She could just feign concern as Rachel's teacher and choir coach, but somehow she knows that the boy won't buy it. It's _Jesse_. As thick-skulled and oblivious as he can be sometimes, the boy does always seem to know when something's up. Especially when it's her.

During their trip to nationals back when Jesse was a Freshman, it had only taken a day and a half before he sat his teacher down and demanded to know why she hadn't eaten more than a banana the whole time they'd been there. Shelby had weakly tried to tell him that it was all fine, but he wasn't having any of it. For the rest of the trip, and still to this day, he made a point of checking that she was eating enough. Him and Luke had even developed a nice little system of contacting each other if things were starting to go badly.

So she can't just lie to Jesse, because he'll see right through it. But equally, she can't tell him the _truth, _can she? That really wouldn't be fair to anyone. Not to Shelby, Jesse, or, of course, Rachel.

She's drawn out of her thoughts by a weak smattering of applause, and looks up to see that Ryan Cassidy has just finished his presentation.

"Good job," she says, without the slightest clue as to how good it actually was. Once she's pieced her personal life back together again, she's definitely going to have a lot of catching up to do in her professional capacities.

Eventually, the sound of the bell brings this class and the school day as a whole to a dull close. Shelby hastily tells the group that anyone who hasn't presented yet can go in their Wednesday class- she _really_ hopes that they haven't all already been- and dismisses them.

Entering her office, she throws herself down in the big, black chair and lets out a shaky breath which sends the loose strands of hair framing her face soaring upwards. She only has to wait for a few minutes before Jesse enters, looking extremely nervous.

"Jesse," she nods coldly, directing him to sit in the chair opposite.

"Shelby- listen," he quickly begins, "I _know_ I'm supposed to ask for permission to use the auditorium, but I came by here at the start of lunch and you weren't in and you weren't answering my texts and I just _really_ had to talk to Rachel."

"You done?" she asks when he finally stopes to take a breath.

Jesse nods, then reconsiders. "I'm sorry?"

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"Good," she says. "But that's not why I called you here."

Jesse frowns. "It's not?"

"No. I need to talk to you," she says, still completely unsure of exactly _what _she's planning on saying, how much she's going to share.

"Oh. Okay?"

"It's about Rachel," she tells him, peering at his face to try to gauge his reaction. He just looks… _sad_. It's not a look she's seen on Jesse much.

"Oh?"

Deciding there's no point in holding back too much, she is dealing with _Jesse_ after all, she dives right in. "What happened on Thursday after rehearsal?"

"What do you mean?"

Shelby exhales frustratedly. "I _mean_, what happened when you were driving her home? I heard the two of you talking onstage earlier."

Jesse's eyebrows rise at this last remark. "How long were you there for?"

"Does it matter?"

"Well, _yes,_" he snaps._ "_Because you're in here right now when you're supposed to be auditioning Rachel, and she wouldn't tell me what happened. I don't want the fact that you're pissed at me to jeopardise her chances of getting on the team."

Shelby studies him for a moment. Could it be? Jesse St. James caring about someone other than himself? And other than _her_?

"Don't look at me like that," he says, rolling his eyes. "I can be a decent person, you know."

"Oh, I know," Shelby tells him with a small smile. He's too young to be this cynical and defensive. He'll explode by the time he reaches her age. "Sorry. I've put Rachel on the team."

"You did?" Jesse asks, grinning. "That's great, but…" His smile turns stale on his face. "Why wouldn't she just tell me?"

Shelby frowns. She couldn't answer that; she doesn't know her daughter well enough.

"Like she wouldn't tell me _anything_."

"Oh," Shelby says. "Well, I did kind of follow her into the bathroom."

"You did what?" Jesse says incredulously. "Why?"

"She was crying!" Shelby defends weakly. She knows that won't count for much in Jesse's book.

"So? When Giselle cried last week, you told her to get out and come back once she'd decided to stop 'acting like a toddler'." Did he _really_ have to add the air quotes?

"Yeah, well, I was worried about Rachel," she says quietly. "Because of what you guys were saying."

Jesse raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Okay. I'll ask again, how long were you there for?"

Shelby shrugs. "Long enough to hear you talking about the crazy lady on her porch." The thought is enough to send a powerful wave of guilt rippling through her.

"Oh," Jesse sighs. He looks down at his hands for a second, face contorted in thought, before he finally meets her eyes. "I'm worried, Shelby."

She tastes bile at the back of her throat and swallows hard. "Why, Jess? What happened?"

"I… uh- I don't know whether I should…" He trails off and looks quickly at the door, as if Rachel might be standing there, listening in. "Rachel wouldn't want me to."

Shelby bites the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood. "You can trust me, Jesse."

"I know," Jesse assures her swiftly. "But… Rachel trusted _me_."

He fixes his gaze pointedly at the ground again, and Shelby's stomach squirms again. "Jesse," she says, "look at me." He finally does, and his eyes betray an unusual level of vulnerability. "You need to tell me what happened."

"But it's not like- I don't-" He uncharacteristically stumbles over his words before inhaling deeply. "I don't think she's, like, being, you know _abused…_"

The bile returns with an unprecedented fury. "But?"

"But I think there's something going on." He sighs again and bites his lip. "Do you know why she transferred?"

Shelby shakes her head. "All I got told was 'family reasons'."

"Right," Jesse nods, "that's what she told me too. But then she told me that it was partly because her family- I don't know who- erm, walked in on her and her boyfriend, doing, _you know_…"

For the boy that recounted his 'first time' to Shelby in excruciating detail, his wavering strikes her as highly odd.

"What?"

Jesse shoots her a frustrated look. "_You know- _they were-"

She quickly stops him, waving her hand. "Yeah, I got that," she says, feeling incredibly ill at the thought. That's her _baby_. "I mean, _that_ was the reason she got transferred?"

"I thought it was weird too," Jesse admits, frowning. "And then, when we got to her house, there was this lady like _screaming_ at her. Which wouldn't be that weird, I guess. But she'd _just_ told me that she didn't have a mom. She was adopted by two men."

Shelby swallows hard again. She's trying desperately now to keep it together, to stuff all of her feelings down and hide them away from the boy. She's terrified that she's failing.

"Right," she says, hating the tremble that enters her voice. "Was she… Is she okay?"

Jesse shrugs before shaking his head a little. The movement is so slight that Shelby almost missed it, but she didn't. "I don't know. It was really weird."

"Did she say anything about her dads?" Shelby asks, desperately hoping and praying for some kind of light in all this dark.

"No, not really," Jesse says quietly. "I tried to tell her to talk to them, but she just… she got all quiet."

Shelby feels like she's been punched in the gut. All she wants to do is run out of this office and find her daughter. To hold her, ask her what the hell is going on and tell her that, no matter what, it's all going to be okay. But she doesn't know whether she can. She still doesn't have a fucking clue as to what's _really_ happening in her life. She lifts her eyes to the ceiling and uses the glaring fluorescent lamp to try to mask the tears threatening to fall.

"Shelby?" Jesse prompts after a few moments of silence. "Are you alright?"

His eyes are so full of concern that it makes the tears sting even more potently.

"Yeah," she breathes after a second, blinking hard. "I'm okay."

Jesse frowns again, entirely unconvinced. "Shelby," he repeats, "what's going on? I mean, yeah something's happening with Rachel… But- I mean- Why are you so… _concerned_?"

And it's like the floodgates have been opened. Hot tears fall from her eyes that she doesn't bother to wipe away. They dribble down her face and land on the stupid black blouse. She takes a few shuddering breaths and sinks her face down into her hands.

"Shelby?" Jesse is immediately at her side, kneeling down in front of her. His alarmed eyes find hers and he lays a comforting hand on her knee. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Jesse," she whispers, her voice choking on the enormity of what she's about to do, "it's Rachel. Rachel is my daughter."

* * *

_**A/N: Helloooooooo. So this still isn't 'She Used To Be Mine'. It has taken me yet another 10k words to get to that point. I really hope you don't feel like this is dragging, but if you do, I'm sorry. We have progress, progress, progress coming in the next chapter. **_

_**I'm back at uni now, so the updates will be slower. But hopefully you'll stick with me. Oh- and my dissertation proposal got approved so I'm officially going to be writing 10k words about time, subjectivity and death in 'Rent'. Very excited.**_

**_For anyone in the UK, hope you had a good Bonfire Night. Oh- and just to clarify, I'm from the UK but my mom is from Long Island, NY. So if there are any phrases you don't recognise, that'll be why. Sorry. _**

_**Really hope you enjoyed and I would love to know what you think! I love reading the reviews SO much- especially people's theories etc. DARecruit, I'm looking at you. **_

_**See you soon! (with 'She Used to be Mine' - I promise)**_


	5. She Used To Be Mine- Part I

_**Buckle up- this is the longest one yet. **_

_**Chapter 5: She Used To Be Mine- Part 1**_

* * *

Shelby Corcoran has never put much stock in the phrase 'to cry it out'. No matter how many tears spill down her cheeks, whatever 'it' is this time doesn't go away. None of her issues have ever spotted the familiar bloodshot eyes and blotchy cheeks and decided that they'll just leave her be.

It doesn't work that way, and it never has. Which is why, of course, it's so highly frustrating, so inconceivable, that she's spent so much time crying recently. It's time that she'll never get back. She swore hand on heart, _promised_ herself that she would never just wallow in self-pity and tears again, knowing it did no good.

Tears hadn't helped her when she was twelve years old, when they'd rolled down her cheeks and made wet patches on the top of her yellow dress and pink bedding. They'd done nothing throughout her pregnancy, or the adoption, or when she'd found herself on a rumbling bus back to New York with no possessions but the clothes on her back.

Nothing.

So she'd stopped them. For a while, at least. To everyone's displeasure, _horror_ even, there were many times when she should have been inconsolable with tears, but simply wasn't. She hadn't cried when she'd discovered her fiancé, Henry, in bed with another woman. She didn't shed a single tear throughout her ninety day stay in _that_ miserable place in upstate New York. And, when they'd torn her uterus from her body, she had waited until the dead of night, when the only sounds came from the steady beating of her monitors, to let a single tear dribble down her face. She had let it fall, wiped any remnants away, and then rolled over to try and sleep, ignoring the throbbing pain from her incision wounds.

So now, she's staring at her own reflection in her little pocket-mirror and wondering why the hell she can't just suck it up and get on with it like she's always done. She _knows_ why, though. It's because now she's not just crying for herself, but also for her daughter. They're tears of shame and anxiety which burn at her face with an unprecedented fury.

"Shelby?"

She can practically see the ghosts of her past lingering in the glossy wetness of her hazel eyes. It's disgusting. She narrows them slightly before widening them again, as if she can somehow lure the unshed tears back inside.

"Shelby?"

It's sort of working. That, or she's left it long enough so that they're starting to dry up on their own. Her emotions shrivelling up within her just the way she's always liked it.

"Shelby!"

The secrets and emotions she's refused to let out of her tightly guarded walls have been a welcoming sanctum to her for so long now. It's comforting. It's _safe_. With everything that's happened in her thirty grizzly years on this planet, it's nice to have a space where everything is laid out clearly before her. Although, she doesn't allow herself to visit there very often- it hurts too much. As an English teacher- and a theatrically inclined drama queen- she can appreciate the paradox this presents. The oxymoron constantly bubbling beneath the surface.

"_Shel-by_."

And only a few people aside from herself have ever been granted entry. One of them is currently in London, probably heading back to his hotel from the university now, maybe about to join some colleagues for a drink at a bar. Another is most likely already drunk somewhere; she's probably flirtatiously twisting her blonde hair around her finger in the signature move which means she's definitely about to jump whichever poor man it is who's found themselves crossing her path. And now there's one more… A pouting teenager who looks like he's about to burst from anticipation kneeling right in front of her.

"Shelby!"

"_What_?" she finally hisses, tearing her eyes away from the mirror and glaring back at him.

Jesse places a hand on her knee, and just stares at her, eyes filled with worry. "Are you having a stroke?"

His voice is so serious that Shelby can't do anything but snort. "Excuse me?"

"Your eyes went all weird… Like this." He rolls his head backwards and crosses his eyes exaggeratedly. "I've… They showed us the symptoms once in health class…"

Shelby shakes her head. "_That's _the class you chose to attend?"

"What?"

"Nothing." She snaps the pocket mirror closed and replaces it in her top desk drawer. "Jess, I'm fine."

"Well you're clearly not. But I'm glad I don't have to perform CPR. I missed that class."

"_There's _a surprise." He frowns at her. "Look," she continues, widening her eyes and plastering on a tight smile, "I'm _fine_. Nothing to worry about."

"You know I don't believe that for a second."

"Well you should."

"Well I don't."

They hold each other's gaze for a few long moments, both scowling and waiting for the other to back down. Neither does, of course. They're both _far _too stubborn for that.

Eventually, Shelby looks down and breaks out into a shaky laugh. "You know, I really have to hand it to you, Jess."

"What?" he snaps again.

She raises her eyebrows with a smirk. "Never did I think I'd ever come across someone as dramatic as me, but here we are."

Jesse's mouth gapes open. "I- _Me…?_ I…" He shakes his head and points an accusing finger right at her. "You're the one who just blurted out that Rachel was your _daughter_ and then like went off into some weird trance for the best part of ten minutes!"

"Do you want to say it a bit louder?" she seethes, looking pointedly at the door. "_Goddamnit." _

She immediately leaps to her feet. The nervous energy shooting through her legs carries her back and forth in a frenzied pacing motion without any input from her brain. _So fucking stupid_, she tells herself. How the hell could she have told him that? He's a fucking _teenager_ and here she is treating him like some kind of on-call therapist. She may have made a lot of mistakes in her life but this one really takes the cake.

"You can't tell anyone," she says, glaring firmly at him. Her legs stop moving and she leans against the back of the spare chair, resting her elbows on top of it.

"Do you really think that little of me?" Jesse asks. The sneer is gone from his face, instead replaced by a look of genuine hurt.

"What? No- of _course_ not, Jess." She shakes her head before crouching slightly so she can rest it against her arms. This can't be happening. She's already upsetting him. "I… just… I shouldn't have told you that. I'm sorry."

"_Shelby_," Jesse says kindly. He gets up and walks towards her, placing a tentative hand on the small of her back. "I'm not going to tell anyone, I swear."

She turns her head and smiles gratefully at him. "Thanks."

"I mean-" He chews on his lip. "- am I allowed to, like, ask questions?"

"If I say 'no' is that going to stop you?"

"Probably not," he admits with a small chuckle.

Shelby sighs deeply. She leans her weight onto her arms and stretches out her back with a resounding _crack_ before pushing herself back up. This is _her_ fault, she reminds herself, so _she_ can deal with the fallout. She gestures for Jesse to retake his spot in the spare seat and walks back to her own, plopping herself unceremoniously down.

She waits until Jesse stops looking so bewildered and actually sits before she leans forwards, draping her arms and chest across the desk. "Go on then."

"Oh… well, I don't really know where to begin…"

"Ha! Welcome to my world, kid."

Jesse doesn't laugh. He doesn't do much of anything except continue to look at her with those same, concerned eyes. It's the same look she usually gives him; the way round it's _supposed _to be.

"So she's your… daughter?"

"Yep," Shelby says simply.

"Like you… _birthed_ her?"

"Yes, Jesse, I think we've established that." And _only _that.

"Sorry," he says, furrowing his brow. "I just can't quite wrap my head around the fact that _you_… that you-"

"That I what?" she probes with a cold smirk. "That _I_, being the heartless bitch that I am, managed to actually house a baby? That I pushed a living, breathing _child_ out of my vagina?"

"Ergh," he groans, wrinkling his nose in sheer disgust. "Could you not? And you know I don't think that about you."

There's that look again. The hurt. God, she's really going out of her way to prove the point that she is, indeed, a heartless bitch. "Sorry," she mutters.

Jesse shrugs. "'S'okay. It must be a lot."

"Yep."

He readjusts himself in the seat awkwardly. "So, you're what? Thirty, right?"

"Right."

"And Rachel's fourteen so- so that means…"

"So that means you can add teenage harlot to whatever it is you're thinking about me right now," she bites out before she can stop herself. "_Fuck_. She slams her forehead against the desk and looks back at him. "Sorry."

"I've heard that word before, Shelby."

"Not about the swearing." She pauses. "Well, _yes_ about the swearing but more about the snapping. I don't know why…" Trailing off helplessly, her guilt only increases tenfold when Jesse merely sends her a sympathetic smile.

"Don't worry about it," he says. "I've been worse to you before."

"Yeah, but I'm the teacher."

"Not right now," Jesse shrugs placidly. "Right now, you're just a person who needs someone to talk to. A friend."

"I shouldn't be friends with my sixteen year old student."

"Well, you are," he says firmly. "So get used to it."

Shelby groans, feeling something as stupid as embarrassment creeping up within her. Of all the emotions she should be, _is_, feeling right now, it seems ridiculous that this is the one which seems to be dominating. She hates that her constant façade of impenetrable professionalism is rapidly dwindling away. Although, she does realise it hasn't existed with Jesse for a long time. He's always somehow been able to see what very few others have; her high castle walls aren't made of solid stone, but instead are sand which can come crumbling down at any moment.

She gingerly shoots him a small smile. "Thanks."

"It's nothing," he tells her. "So… Rachel?"

"Right, Rachel."

She takes a deep breath, scouring her brain for a good starting point to this story. There probably isn't one. Every story only exists because of what came before it. But she doesn't exactly want to completely bare herself; she's already deeply uncomfortable at her current level of vulnerability.

"I… uh- My teenage years were rough, so to speak," she begins carefully. "As you know, I didn't exactly have the best relationship with my family by that point. My- uh- my dad had already left and my brother was away at med school, so it was just me and my mom. But then I met a guy at school and he was… he seemed to _get_ me. Or-" She rolls her eyes at her own past self- "at least I thought he did. Um, I'm sure you can put the pieces together of what happened next. I was fifteen, feeling like crap all the time, and I just needed someone to love me."

She's not looking at Jesse anymore. Instead her eyes are staring straight ahead across the desk and burning a hole in the cabinet opposite. At least that can't tell her how pathetic she is, how pathetic she's _always_ been.

"I didn't find out about the pregnancy… about _Rachel_ until I was already four months in. I wasn't expecting it." A humourless laugh escapes her lips. "_Obviously_. I mean, I know no sixteen year old _expects_ to be pregnant, but I didn't think I cou-. I wasn't supposed to be able to. But I was. And it was only a couple of weeks before my mom found out. She found the prenatal vitamins I'd been prescribed.

"To say she flipped would be a bit of an understatement. She didn't like… She didn't kick me out straight away per se, but she made it perfectly clear that she didn't want me around anymore. That she wasn't going to support me." She lets out a shaky breath, glancing over at Jesse whose face is crinkled up in concentration. Returning her gaze to the safety of the emotionless cabinet, she continues.

"I knew Rachel's dads already. The Jewish community around here is pretty tight, and I think Hiram worked with my dad at one point- I'm not sure. Anyway, they were at this horrific family party that my mom insisted I had to go to with her. I honestly think it was purely so her and all her friends could criticise me- I was already showing by that point. They were the only ones there who were actually nice to me at all, and we got to talking and… I don't know. We just went from there, I guess."

"They decided to adopt the baby… Rachel?" Jesse asks when Shelby pauses for a moment.

"Yeah- and I agreed, obviously. They seemed like such great men, so I went for it." A small, fond smile creeps up onto her face. "They were so good to me."

"What? About Rachel?"

Shelby sighs, and sits up a little so she's facing Jesse properly. _It's now or never_. "Yes, with Rachel. But with me too." She hesitates briefly again, but forces herself onwards. "They let me move in with them."

"Woah- what?"

Shelby nods. "That was pretty much my reaction when they offered. I mean, they saw how miserable I was at home… how much of a bitch my mom was being. At first, it was sort of under the pretence of being healthy during the pregnancy. They… uh… Well, let's just say they knew about my… _issues_." She cringes at the word. Even now, she hates to bring it up. Hates the fact that those same fucking 'issues' have been plaguing her life for so long.

Jesse's eyes widen in realisation. "That's being going since you were a teenager?"

Shelby swallows. "Yes. And they said they just wanted to make sure that we were both okay, being looked after properly. But I think it was more than that. It definitely _became_ more than that. They were like…" She clears her throat to remove the stubborn lump settling there. There will be no more tears today. "They became like parents to me, you know?"

"Oh."

"Yeah. Uh- they, well Hiram really, he homeschooled me, I couldn't go back… Not with- There were _issues_." That fucking word again. "But it was okay. I somehow got through all my work for sophomore and junior year in that time, so it meant I could graduate a year early. Um- right, and I had Rachel. Obviously. And then my brother had finished school, so he came back to do his residency here and I moved in with him."

"Did they- did they kick you out?" Jesse asks.

"What- God no. They just… we all just thought it would be better if I wasn't living with them and with…" She trails off, shutting her eyes tightly and desperately swallowing away the emotions fighting their way up her throat. She will _not _cry.

"With Rachel," Jesse supplies.

She nods, her lips pressed tightly together. Another deep breath, and she can carry on. "Right. We needed to have some kind of… normalcy, you know? It would have been too hard if I was living there with them. It was hard enough as it was. I got to see her. A lot. I probably shouldn't have seen her as much as I did- but Hiram and Leroy _knew_ me. They knew how tough I was finding it."

The tears she's been trying so hard to repress make their way into her eyes and she swipes viciously at them, as if they had been the ones to ruin everything.

"Cause I _loved _her, Jess. God, it's like… I don't think you ever understand that feeling until you're a parent and then… Like no matter what was going on, or how fucking shit things were for me, I would go over and see her, look into her big eyes and it was like everything was okay again."

Jesse pulls a tissue from the box on her desk and hands it over to her. She hadn't even realised more tears were falling. She accepts it with a grateful nod, but she doesn't meet his eyes. A part of her can't believe she's just told him all of that. She would feel far less exposed if she was dancing around the room stark naked.

"So what happened?" he asks cautiously once she's cleaned her face and thrown the tissue angrily into the trash can. "If you were… like why did you…?"

"Why did I stop seeing her?" Shelby asks bluntly. When Jesse nods, she sighs again and lowers her face back down onto her arms. "I moved away for college. Hiram and Leroy, they helped me with everything. Applied for scholarships with me, paid for my dorm." She runs her tongue back and forth against her teeth. Saying it all aloud, it just makes her feel even worse about the whole situation. "It's then that things started to go wrong. I mean, a part of me felt like I was _selling _her. They got their baby, and I got to go move to New York for college. I _know_ that's not what happened, and it wasn't their intention at all but… I just felt awful."

Jesse starts to speak but she shakes her head. She has to get this out now, or else she doesn't think she'll ever be able to at all.

"Things were okay in my freshman year. The workload wasn't that much, so I could come back a lot to visit. Rach was about fifteen months when I first left, so it was okay. I got to see her when she first started walking, and when she said her first words. She was even calling me 'mama'." A strangled sob escapes her lips, and she bites down hard on the inside of her cheek to stop it happening again. "But then in my sophomore year, things just started to get more… intense. And the, you know, _issues_ were back again, I guess. New York really isn't everything they make it out to be.

"And then, I…" She pauses again. How can she even begin to put into words the days that led her to making the biggest mistake of her life?

_Nearly Twelve Years Ago, November 2007_

Newly nineteen year old Shelby leaned against a metal pillar just past the baggage collection point at Columbus Airport. She just needed a second.

Taking a deep breath, she once again checked that she had all her belongings- her thick winter jacket tucked under her arm, the duffel bag slung over her shoulder, and the small suitcase which lay by her feet. They hadn't moved in the five minutes she'd been standing there. She just watched as people hurried to leave this intermittent zone, to get to wherever they were going as quickly as possible. In the arrivals' lounge next door, she could hear the overjoyed cries of loved-ones reuniting.

It could be her, she reminded herself. _Would _be her, once she worked up the courage to gather herself and her things up and just walk round the corner. She slid up the screen of her Motorola again, and reread Leroy's message for maybe the fifteenth time.

_Just arrived. Can't wait to see you._

It had come through ten minutes ago, while she was still waiting for her case to come trundling along the conveyor belt. He was right around the corner, and yet her legs remained glued to the ground where she stood.

She didn't even know how to pinpoint what it was that was delaying her. She was excited, she'd been looking forward to this moment for _weeks_. Even on her birthday the previous weekend, when her college friends had dragged her out with bottles of vodka and fake IDs, a large part of her had just wished she was here instead. At home.

But was it even her home anymore? She felt like a bad photocopy of her former self. New York, college, _life_ had hardened her somehow, in a way she hadn't expected. She'd already felt hard enough the first time she'd stepped onto the plane to go there. And she'd been away for nearly three months now. It was the longest she'd ever been gone.

Now she was back, homesickness and an intense feeling of being an outsider battled for dominance within her, but neither seemed to win. Instead, the warring forces were just eroding at her from the inside out. She felt haggard, confused, and empty. It really wasn't pleasant.

It wasn't until when a mother carrying her sleeping toddler in her arms hurried past Shelby, accidentally kicking her suitcase over, that she was finally able to snap out of her head.

"God- I am _so_ sorry," the woman had said, beginning to bend over to drag the case back up by its extended handle. A task made difficult by the squirming bundle in her arms.

"It's fine, honestly," Shelby replied, waving off the woman's advances and swiftly grabbing it herself. She allowed herself to peer at the small boy with a little smile. "He's cute."

The woman grinned and leaned her head against her son's. "You wouldn't be saying that if you'd just heard him screaming on the flight. I think someone misses their daddy, right bud?" she cooed. Both women shared a chuckle when the boy just grizzled in reply.

Shelby opened her mouth to speak again, but shut it quickly. What was she _doing_? This was the one time she didn't have to live vicariously through other parents she saw on the streets. Her own baby was waiting for her, hopefully missing her mommy just as much as she missed her.

The woman nodded warmly at Shelby before disappearing off round the corner. With a final sharp intake of breath, Shelby followed suit.

Not two seconds after her foot made contact with the floor of the arrivals lounge, she heard Leroy's voice shouting her name. "Shelby! _Sheeelllbyyy!_ Over here!"

He looked like he was about to mount the barrier and was waving one hand above his head frantically, as if she would somehow miss his shouts. She felt her cheeks tinge pink, but grinned anyway and managed a small wave back as she hurried towards him.

The older man wrapped his arms tightly around her middle and lifted her up in the air, swinging her backwards and forwards in his excitement. She grunted a little, but went with it. Nobody had made her feel this appreciated since… well _ever. _

"Let me get a good look at you," he said, once he'd finally placed her back down. He put his hands on her shoulders and twirled her around not once, but three times.

"Seriously?" she groaned, but she was still beaming. "It's been three months, Lee. Not three decades."

Leroy ignored her and caught the ends of her shoulder-length hair in his fingers. "I like it," he commented.

"Glad to have your approval," Shelby smirked. "My friend Lauren did it last month."

Leroy raised an eyebrow. "And was she sober at the time?"

"_Yes_. We're not of legal drinking age," she told him with a sly smile.

"That's my beautiful, law-abiding girl," he cooed, pinching her cheek. She rolled her eyes and then quickly turned her head, snapping her teeth like she was going to bite his fingers. He pulled them away and swatted the side of her head. "I see the mean streets of NYC have made you tough."

"Yes. Those self-defence classes you guys made me go to always said to bite muggers."

"Are you sassing me, Miss Corcoran?"

Shelby's mouth gaped open dramatically and she flicked some hair over her shoulder. It didn't quite have the same effect now it was so much shorter. "_Me? Never!"_

Two minutes in, and she was already starting to feel more alive, more like herself. She couldn't wipe the smile off her face.

"Let's get going, babe," Leroy said, guiding the duffel off her shoulder and resting it against his own. "I've left Hiram in charge of the cooking and I would quite like to return to a still-standing house."

Shelby grimaced. "You… let _him_… cook?"

"Desperate times, desperate measures," Leroy chuckled with a wave of his hand. He grabbed the handle of her suitcase, and together they walked towards the large glass doors which led to the parking lot. "Coat on, please," he told her as they neared.

"Oh, come on. We're going to be in the car in like two minutes!"

"Shelby, I'm not arguing. It's cold out. Coat on."

"Lee-"

"_Shelby_," he interrupted sternly. The tone almost made her smile again; she'd missed someone being there to look out for her. But she didn't. Because she was still a teenager and she didn't like being told what to do. "It's cold, you're tiny. Coat on."

"I'm not _that_ tiny," she grumbled as she relented and slid her thick jacket over her.

Leroy didn't seem to hear; he was fishing in his pocket for his wallet to pay the parking charge. "Thank you," he said with a satisfied nod. "Now, you go pay please and I'll carry your things to the car."

"'Kay," Shelby muttered, taking the wallet.

Once they were settled in the car, with Shelby complaining about how hot she now was with the jacket on and the heat turned all the way up, Leroy turned the radio on and drove out towards the highway.

Shelby tapped her fingers against the window in time with the beat, and watched as they rushed past the Ohio fields. _Home_. She'd spent all her life counting down the days until she could leave this place, and now she felt a warm tingling flooding through her body at being back.

"So," Leroy began cautiously, "how are _things_?"

Shelby sighed. "Things are _good_," she replied, mocking his nervous tone.

"Shelbs-"

"It's fine, Lee." He glanced over at her skeptically. "Honestly. I'm just… busier."

"But you're never too busy to take care of yourself, right?"

"Right," she repeated dutifully.

"So you've been ta-"

"Taking my meds, speaking to my therapist, giving myself time-outs when I need them."

"They're not time-outs, Shelbs," Leroy sighed. "You just need to make sure you're not overwhelming yourself."

Shelby rolled her eyes and stared out the window. They were on busier streets now; the fields were gone. She could hear Leroy lecturing her about the importance of looking after herself or something, but she wasn't listening anymore. After all, she heard the same speech every time she called them.

"Yeah," she said blankly when there was a lull in his talking.

"Yeah?" he questioned with an alarmed frown.

Oops, that clearly wasn't the right answer. "I mean no?"

"Shelby, are you even listening to me?"

"Of course," she lied.

"I just want you to be happy, sweetheart," he said, reaching his hand out and laying it on her leg. He rubbed a soothing pattern up and down.

Shelby just stared at it for a second. She didn't deserve it: the unrelenting kindness. Then she placed her hand on top of his and squeezed. "I am happy." And she _was_… to an extent. "I like my classes," she offered, hoping to allay some of his worry.

Leroy perked up. "Oh really? That's great!"

She gave him a little smile. "Yeah, I'm taking one about curating an individual performance style. It's with Henry Woodward. You know, that guy from the Tony's a couple of years ago?"

Leroy scowled. "The one Hiram had a crush on?"

"That's the one," she laughed. She could still hear the ensuing argument that had rattled through the house once Hiram had expressed an interest in the ex-actor. "He's a good teacher."

"Please don't tell me you have a crush on him too, Shelbs. I don't think my poor heart could take it."

"Nah," she said. "Way too old."

"Speaking of which," Leroy said, raising an eyebrow at her, "have there been any men on the horizon? Because if there are then-"

Shelby's eyes widened. She was _not_ about to do this right now. "Oh listen-" She cranked up the dial on the radio. "-I _love_ this song."

Leroy just shook his head and patted her leg affectionately.

Around an hour later, Leroy flicked on his turn signal, and pulled the car into the driveway of a large, two-storey house. Shelby grinned at the Holiday lights already strung all across the wraparound porch; the two men were nothing if not incredibly enthusiastic. About everything.

As she unbuckled her seatbelt, her stomach clenched with nerves. It was the same feeling she'd first had when she arrived here three years ago. Leroy had come to her mother's house, helped her pack up the majority of her belongings and brought her back with him. She'd never been back to the other house since, and her brother had moved to Columbus soon after she went to New York. This was the most permanent home she had now, but it sometimes didn't feel like it.

"Shelby?" Leroy said, watching her as she stared in trepidation at the house.

"Hm? Oh- sorry." She moved to open the car door until a gentle hand on her arm stopped her. "What?"

"There's just something I wanted to mention to you," he said carefully.

Her stomach flipped. She was so glad she hadn't even attempted any of the plane food, it would probably already be coating Leroy's leather interiors. "What?"

"It's Rachel." He started to stroke her arm gently, feeling it tense up beneath his fingers. "She's okay," he assured her quickly. "It's just that she's going through a bit of a… phase at the moment."

"A phase?"

"Yes. See, she's just very attached to me right now. Hiram had to practically pry her off my leg so I could leave to come and get you."

"I'm sorry," Shelby said quietly.

"No, don't be silly. She's two- she throws a fit over just about anything. I just… I just wanted you to be prepared."

"Prepared?"

"In case she's being, you know, clingy with me."

"And not with me," Shelby supplied, speaking the unsaid words which were left hanging awkwardly in the air.

Leroy smiled sadly. "Right."

Shelby swallowed, before nodding her head. "I'll be fine," she told him, injecting as much conviction as she could into her shaking voice. "It'll be okay. Besides, I brought a present, which means she _has_ to love me."

"You don't have to buy her affection, Shelbs."

Shelby frowned. "I'm not. I just… I saw it when I was out shopping last week. Sometimes I like to walk around toy stores. Is that weird?"

"Not at all." Leroy shook his head softly. "I'm sure she'll love it."

"She better," she smirked. "Didn't eat for two days so I could afford it."

"Do you need money? Shelby we can-"

"_Kidding_," she said, raising her hands in defence.

It was sort of true. She could still have afforded food if she'd wanted to.

Leroy pointed a finger at her. "Behave," he laughed.

"I always do."

She jumped out of the car, before Leroy could argue otherwise and ran to the trunk. He helped her to grab her bags and they both climbed the steps up to the front door.

"Hiram, honey? I'm home! And I brought a strange girl I found at the airport with me!" Leroy called into the entrance hall.

"A strange girl? I hope she's had her shots," Hiram quipped as he walked through the archway from the kitchen.

Shelby grinned as she pulled her jacket off and hung it on the hook that had always been hers. She'd really, _really_ missed this. Before she knew what was happening, Hiram was engulfing her in a similar bear hug to the one his husband had ensnared her in at the airport.

"Hi, honey," he whispered in her ear. "We missed you."

"Oh really? Don't you greet all your houseguests like this?"

He tapped her nose. "You're not a houseguest." He stepped back and looked her up and down. "Nice hair."

"Thanks," she smiled, tucking it shyly behind her ears.

"Her drunk friend did it," Leroy said from where he was placing her cases at the bottom of the stairs.

"Oh really?" Hiram turned an accusing look at the young girl.

"Hey- I already told you she wasn't drunk!" Shelby protested. She winked at Hiram. "Well, not _that _drunk."

He clicked his tongue at her and shook his head before throwing an arm around her shoulders. "Oh, the stories I could tell you of my college days, my dear," he said wistfully as he led her into the living room.

"You already have. Many, _many_ times."

He pouted. "Leroy, darling, I've changed my mind. Take her back to the airport."

"Too late," Shelby said, ducking out from under his arm and launching herself at one of the floral couches. She sprawled her weary body out, sinking in to its familiar warmth. Lingering in the newfound comfort for a second, she sighed contentedly. This was definitely better than the sorry pleather excuses her and her roommates had in their cramped apartment.

"Tea, coffee, cookies?" Leroy asked, poking his head through the living room door.

"Just coffee, please," she replied sweetly. "I ate on the plane."

"Coming right up."

She missed the skeptical look Hiram was sending her from the other side of the room. He hadn't missed how thin she was looking now her thick jacket was off. Her collarbones stuck out above her scoop-neck top, and her high cheekbones appeared more defined than ever.

Shelby drunk in the tranquility of the space for only a few seconds longer before looking expectantly at Hiram. "Sooo?"

"So?" he repeated with a teasing grin. He didn't let Shelby finish rolling her eyes. "I put her down for a nap about an hour ago. Well, she actually put herself down once she'd finished screaming for her daddy. Has Leroy filled you in? Told you that boring old dad is the bane of her little existence right now?" She bit her lip and nodded. "It'll be fine, Shelbs."

She forced on a smile. It _had _to be. "I know."

"You should go get her, if you want. It'll be good for her to wake up properly before dinner."

"Can I really?"

"Well, I don't see anyone else in here. Do you?"

Shelby jumped up off the couch and headed back towards the stairs. Grabbing her duffel and case, she quickly climbed them. She deposited her bags into her room with a fond glance around. It was now technically the guest room, only it was conveniently still decorated to her exact tastes. They had barely changed a thing- even leaving her numerous Broadway posters hanging in their frames.

Then, she walked down the hallway and braced herself outside her daughter's nursery. She hesitated only for a few seconds- she really didn't have the time, nor emotional capacities, to pull another Columbus Airport Baggage Claim Freakout right now. There was a tugging feeling deep within her chest, a magnetic force calling her into the room.

She pushed the door open and smiled at the familiar pastel yellow walls and gentle decorations. Pink butterflies were stuck onto each wall, scattered as if they were flying around the room. There were copious toys strewn across the cream carpet as if they had just been dropped down wherever Rachel got bored. Or, Shelby thought over Hiram's words, probably more likely had been _thrown_ down as he tried to calm her earlier outburst. Shelby picked up her personal favourite, a plastic microphone which had been a gift from Cassie, and softly tossed it into Rachel's white toy chest.

The crib which had stood near the window the last time Shelby was here had been replaced by a small wooden bed, which had a netted canopy decorated with gold stars hanging over it. Her chest constricted; her little baby was growing up, was taking steps into her future without Shelby there to hold her hand. She shook her head, she couldn't do that right now.

She watched as the little girl sighed softly in her sleep, rolling over and securing her little thumb in her mouth. Shelby frowned. _That_ was definitely a newly acquired habit. She moved towards the bed and knelt down in front of it.

Tenderly, she ran a hand through Rachel's short, dark hair. Her own was now only a little longer, she realised with a small smile.

"Rachel, baby?" she whispered. "Time to get up, Star."

Rachel stirred again, but her eyes remained firmly closed.

Shelby leaned forwards and kissed her cheek, savouring her soft smell of baby powder. Tears filled her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away. This was a happy day- there was no need to cry.

"C'mon, Star," she said a little louder. "Wake up for Mommy."

Rachel curled her fingers up over her nose and blinked groggily. "Daddy?" she murmured.

"No, baby," Shelby said gently, though her heart felt like it was being torn in two. "It's Mommy."

"Want Daddy," Rachel whined. She opened her eyes and looked curiously at Shelby for a moment, before jetting out her bottom lip. "Want Daddy!"

"Okay, we can go see Daddy, Star. C'mon." She reached out to scoop the little girl into her arms but Rachel quickly shuffled backwards. She looked like she was almost cowering against the wall on the other side of the bed, tugging her pink blanket back with her and scrunching it against her face.

"Want Daddy," she whimpered. Shelby saw her big brown eyes filling with tears and felt them stinging again in her own hazel ones. She should have just told Hiram to come and get her. This was too much; the rejection stung her, cutting through her carefully constructed walls like a knife.

_She's a baby,_ she told herself. _She's a tired baby, and you're the grown up so fucking act like it._

"Rach, baby, we're going to go see Daddy. He's just downstairs!" She desperately tried to add some excitement into her voice, hoping to appeal to the girl. It didn't work.

"_Daddy_," Rachel moaned. The first few tears sprung from her eyes and she flinched backwards when Shelby reached to wipe them away. "W-w-want D-d-daddy!"

"I know, Star," Shelby said helplessly.

_Just fucking do something. _

She took a deep breath and scooped up the now sobbing toddler, pulling her closely into her chest despite the girl's wriggling. "D-d-daddy."

"I know, baby," she murmured into the girl's hair. "I know. Mommy's going to take you to Daddy now."

She paused when she felt the warmth of Rachel's wet diaper pressing against her arm, and glanced towards the wicker changing table. Physically, she could do it. She'd changed Rachel's diaper- even when the girl was throwing a fit- a hundred times. But emotionally, it was another story. She already felt like half the woman she had been when she'd entered the room.

"_D-d-daddy_."

She shook her head. No. She'd just tell Leroy that she thought it would be best if he did it. For now, at least.

"C'mon, Star. Let's get you to your daddy."

Rachel wailed the whole way down the stairs, stretching and writhing to escape her mother's grasp. It was all Shelby to do to keep the girl safe in her arms and mutter soothing words in her ear. Could Hiram and Leroy not hear what was going on? Was this one of their shitty 'learning experiences'? Whatever it was, Shelby hated every second of it, and she put the girl down the second she entered the living room.

Rachel immediately scuttled towards Leroy, who picked her up and managed to cease her crying in seconds.

"She just wanted you," Shelby said coldly. She watched bitterly as Rachel snuggled deep into the man's arms. Even on their best days, she never acted like that with Shelby. "I'm going to the bathroom."

"Shelbs," two voices called after her.

She ignored them and slammed the downstairs bathroom door closed behind her, breathing deeply. Grabbing one of the olive green hand towels from the railing, she brought it up to her face and used it to muffle the sobs which were now wracking her body. They hurt. Everything hurt. Her chest felt like it was going to cave in on itself with every gasping breath, and she cursed Lauren for putting so much tobacco in the spliff they'd smoked last night.

She could hear Rachel giggling, fucking _giggling,_ from the other room as she splashed cold water on her face. Her daughter had practically sparred with her just to escape her arms moments before and now she was giggling.

_What kind of fucking mother are you_? she quickly berated herself. That sound should be music to her ears, the sound of her little girl being happy and being loved. And here she was fighting back further tears over it.

A gentle knock on the door tore her away from her thoughts.

"Just a minute," she called back, glancing at herself in the mirror before squeezing her eyes shut. Maybe she could blink out the redness lingering there.

"Shelbs, baby. You okay?" Hiram's soft voice asked.

"Yep," she replied. "Just washing my hands."

"Okay, sweetie."

She couldn't hear him moving away from the door. "I'll be out in a second."

"Okay."

She stared at the door with a burning fury. Was she not allowed just a minute to pull herself back together without someone wanting to talk about _feelings_ or something equally sickening?

She wrenched it open and Hiram almost fell backwards into the bathroom. He recovered quickly, looking her over with worried eyes.

"_What_?" she spat, folding her arms over her chest.

"Are you alright, honey?" he asked. He gave her a sympathetic smile which only increased the tight feeling of anger in her chest.

"Peachy."

"Are you sure?"

"I said I'm _fine_, Hiram. I just had to go the bathroom."

"I didn't hear the toilet flush," he said gently.

Shelby glanced behind her at the unused toilet. "Must have missed it over the laughing in there."

"Shelbs, why don't you go grab your coffee and we'll have a little chat?"

Shelby rolled her eyes. She knew what a 'little chat' was. It was the same thing they'd had after they'd seen her mother in the grocery store when she was eight months pregnant. Shelby hadn't said a word for the rest of the trip and had locked herself in her room on their arrival at home. It was when she'd refused to come down for dinner that Hiram had made his offer, knocking on her door with a bowl of pasta and promising just a 'little chat' to see how she was doing. She hadn't wanted to talk then, and she didn't now either.

"I'm good, thanks," she said, brushing past him with more aggression than she might have intended.

"It bothers me too sometimes, you know," he called after her. She froze mid-step, but didn't turn. "Whenever I go to tend to her but she just asks for Leroy."

"It's not really the same though, is it?" Shelby snapped, still not looking at him.

"Isn't it?"

"No. Because you have your whole life to spend with her and I have four days. So no. It's not the same at all."

She heard Hiram step behind her and drape his arm over her shoulders. She flinched slightly, but didn't push him off. "I know, honey. I'm sorry," he said. "It's not the same. But you have your whole life with her too."

"For now," she muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing." She walked right out of his grasp and back into the living room, where she perched on the sofa and stared at Leroy. The man was now tickling Rachel's tummy and bouncing her on his knee. The girl was responding with raucous laughter. Neither had looked up at Shelby.

"She needs a diaper change," she commented, wrapping her arms around herself again.

Leroy looked up with a small smile. "I know. I thought you might like to do it."

Shelby frowned. "I'm good."

"Shelbs-"

"There's nothing wrong with me just cause I don't want to scrape shit off of her right now," she snapped.

Leroy shook his head. "First off, watch your language." Shelby just rolled her eyes once more. "And I never said there was anything wrong with you."

"Fine. _Sorry_."

He held her stony gaze for a few seconds before standing up, shifting Rachel onto his hip. "Come on, Star," he cooed. "Let's go get you changed so that you're not all stinky for Mommy and Dad."

"Stinky stinky," Rachel sang gleefully as she was carried out of the room.

Shelby averted her eyes away from the door and began to chew fervently at her fingers.

"I would tell you that's unhygienic," Hiram said from the doorway, "but considering you just spent a good five minutes washing your hands, I'll let it slide this time." She looked up to see him giving her a knowing smile. "Come on. I need your help with dinner."

"I'm just as bad a cook as you are," she told him.

"Yeah well, you know what they say: two bad cooks are better than one at making broth."

She snorted. "No one has _ever _said that."

Half an hour later, Shelby and Hiram had managed to produce a _mostly_ edible meal. They'd only had to scrape off a bit of burned meat from the pot roast, and one baked potato had landed on the floor, but Hiram had assured her that he'd only cleaned it yesterday.

Shelby helped to carry the plates into the dining room, where Leroy was fitting Rachel's booster seat onto one of the dark wood chairs. That was also a new development. When Shelby had left at the start of fall, Rachel had still been in her highchair.

She set Rachel's plastic princess bowl down in front of that seat and then looked awkwardly between her own plate and the remaining chairs.

Noticing this, Leroy beckoned Rachel over from where she was playing with toys in the corner of the room and placed her in the seat.

"Shall Mommy sit by you, Star?" he asked.

Rachel didn't even look up at Shelby before furiously shaking her head. "No! I sit by Daddy."

Leroy tried to mask his sigh. The little girl may have missed it, but her mother didn't. "Rachel, I think Mommy would really like to sit by you. She can help you cut your food up just like Dad or Daddy do. Right, Mommy?"

Shelby swallowed. "That's right, baby. And, look," she said, pointing to the bowl, "Mommy even found your _favourite_ princess bowl for you." She hadn't. Hiram had given it to her, telling her it was the only one she would eat out of this week.

Rachel smiled a little at the bowl, then turned to Shelby with a frown. "No! No Mommy." She looked at Leroy with imploring eyes. "I no mommy."

The two adults shared a quick look. Leroy's was filled with fear, and Shelby's with despair. Neither wanted to even try to interpret Rachel's words. Was she simply saying she didn't want to sit by Shelby right now, or… Shelby couldn't even finish the thought. It started up that same searing pain again.

"It's fine, Lee," she lied, quickly putting her plate down on the other side of the table. "I'll sit over here."

He pressed his lips into a tight smile. "Okay. Star, look! Daddy's going to sit next to you, and Mommy's going to be opposite you."

Rachel probably didn't even hear the second half of that sentence; she'd started squealing with delight when she'd heard that she'd gotten her daddy to sit next to her.

"And where does that leave poor old Dad, hey?" Hiram joked as he walked in carrying the other plates.

"You get to sit by _Mommy_, Dad," Leroy told him, pointing at the vacant seat next to Shelby. She cringed at the way he'd emphasised her name. It wasn't supposed to be this hard.

Shelby watched with a blank expression as Leroy graciously cut up Rachel's food. Next to her, Hiram was trying to make pleasant conversation, but she could barely hear him. She poked at the food on her plate which, like Rachel's, was now all cut up into small pieces. Contrary to her daughter, however, she was having a hard time getting any of it to enter her mouth.

"You need to eat something," Hiram told her in a low voice, while Leroy distracted Rachel with her sippy-cup.

She jumped a little at the sudden intrusion on her own swirling thoughts. "I'm not that hungry. I ate on the plane, remember?"

Hiram shook his head. "We both know that's not true, Shelbs."

"Are you calling me a liar?"

He gave her a look which somehow was both pleading and stern. "You need to eat something."

Shelby sighed and stabbed up a small piece of broccoli with her fork. She looked up as she nibbled on it and saw Rachel watching her with a confused face. Quickly, she shoved the whole piece in her mouth.

"So, how's school?" Hiram asked.

She shrugged. "It's fine."

"Shelby was telling me in the car how Henry Woodward is one of her professors this year," Leroy said with a smirk.

"Oh _really_?" Hiram grinned. "Well, anytime you want to tell him there's an extremely attractive and eligible bachelor in the Lima, Ohio area…"

"I'll be sure to point him in someone else's direction," Shelby joked weakly. She stared at her plate again, trying to decide what looked like it would make her want to vomit the least. Potato, maybe. She could try some potato.

"Rach, Mommy goes to a big girl school in New York!" Hiram said. "That's where Broadway is."

Rachel looked up at the sound of her name, but then looked back at her bowl, apparently bored by the conversation.

"Maybe one day we can all go visit her there," Hiram tried again. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Mommy?"

"I no mommy," Rachel whined again.

Shelby, whose mouth had already been opening to give a response, felt her whole body go cold. It like she'd been thrown into a freezing lake, she couldn't breathe. There was no denying it, her kid didn't have a fucking clue who she was.

The three adults sat in a stunned silence for a moment, the only sound coming from Rachel's loud chewing. Finally, Shelby broke it, pushing her plate a few inches forwards, and going to stand up.

"Shelby, sit down," Leroy said quietly.

"I'm not hungry," she said, frozen halfway between standing and sitting.

"Sit down," Hiram said, placing a hand on her leg.

She did. But only because she knew her shaking limbs wouldn't have carried her very far in that moment. She lowered her head towards the table, refusing to look up at the two men who she knew were probably having one of their silent, worried conversations.

She reached for her glass of water, and sipped slowly, willing the cold liquid to fill the gaping hole inside of her. It didn't.

"Shelbs, please finish your dinner."

She honestly wasn't sure who had spoken, but she just looked at plate still piled high with food and scoffed. There was no way in hell she would ever, _ever_ finish that. Even if her stomach wasn't currently being flooded with every emotion under the sun.

"No."

She felt Hiram's hand begin to rub on her leg and she pushed it off. She knew the move was supposed to be comforting, but she didn't feel it that way. All she could feel was someone touching her, and she hated it.

"I'm not hungry," she repeated coldly.

"Shelbs, please," Hiram said softly. "You really need to eat _something_. Just a bit more, honey."

He pulled her plate back towards her and she sighed angrily. She wasn't a child. They couldn't just put the food in front of her and force her to eat. There was total silence now. Not even Rachel was moving; instead, the little girl was watching the tense scene play out in front of her with piqued curiosity.

She noticed both men's eyes flickering worriedly between mother and daughter.

_You're the fucking adult here_, she reminded herself.

She bit her lip and took a small piece of meat on her fork, bringing it to her mouth as if it were something heinously poisonous.

Shelby only managed a few more mouthfuls around the strained conversation before her body was reacting of its own accord. It simply wouldn't, _couldn't_ let her eat anymore.

"I can't, I'm sorry," she muttered, pushing the plate away again. Even the smell was making her nauseous.

"That's okay," Leroy said. "Thanks for trying."

He and Hiram tried again to ask her about various things from New York before a small voice broke through their stuttered chatter.

"Can't!" Rachel declared, pushing her bowl away. She looked up, almost hopefully, at Leroy before finally making eye-contact with her mother.

_Now look what you've done_.

"Rach, bab-"

"No, Rachel. You need to finish your food," Leroy cut across her firmly. He repositioned the plate and tapped against her plastic fork. "Now, please, Star."

"Can't!" Rachel repeated stubbornly. She looked to Shelby again, her wide eyes seeking approval.

Shelby felt the bile rising in the back of her throat and the meagre contents and what she _had _managed to eat preparing to make a reappearance. _She_ had done this. She'd never heard Leroy or Hiram ever seriously complain about Rachel refusing to eat, and now ten minutes in to dinner with her pathetic excuse of a mother, look where they were.

"I'm sorry," she said, swiftly getting to her feet and picking up her plate. "I'm just going to go."

"No," Hiram commanded sharply. "You need to sit back down. Maybe try to eat a bit mo-"

"I said I'm not fucking _hungry_!" Shelby snapped, slamming the plate back on the table. The sauce they'd made to drizzle over the meat leapt up in every direction, staining the white tablecloth. She clasped a hand over her mouth. "I-I'm so sorry."

She backed slowly away from the table. She couldn't do this. Feeling their eyes all boring into her and the stench of the food filling her nostrils, she started out the room.

And then she heard the smacking of a small plastic bowl against the table. The sound wasn't as loud or as crass as her own china plate thudding down had been, but it echoed through her head like a bomb had just gone off.

She stood in the doorway, listening to the scraping of chairs, and Rachel's small whimpers as she was plucked from her seat. She couldn't do this. It was _all _her fault.

"I'm so sorry," she said again, though she wasn't sure any of them could hear her, before running from the room.

Twenty minutes later, she finally extricated herself from under her blankets when she heard a soft knock on her bedroom door.

"Come in," she called, quickly wiping at her face. She sat herself up and leant against the headboard, bringing her knees up to her chest.

Hiram let himself into the room, carrying a steaming mug of what Shelby hoped was tea. She couldn't face coffee right now. Even though she'd thrown up in the guest bathroom several times, her stomach still didn't feel right.

"Hi, honey," he said, taking a seat on the edge of the double bed. "Are you okay?"

"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?" she said, taking the mug being extended out to her. "I'm the one that ruined dinner and made Rachel cry."

Hiram chuckled softly, placing a tentative hand on her shin. "_You_ didn't make Rach cry," he said. "The sauce getting all over her face made her cry."

"Details," Shelby muttered, waving a dismissive hand. "Is she okay?"

"She's just fine," Hiram assured her gently. "She's had her bath time a bit early is all."

"I'm sorry," she said. She knew it wasn't enough, but it was the only thing she could think to say.

He nodded. "I know you are, sweetie."

"I shouldn't be here," Shelby said. He pulled a face but she shook her head. "We both know it's true."

"Well I don't believe that for a second. And neither does Leroy." He paused. "Or Rachel."

Shelby scoffed and looked down, suddenly becoming intently interested in the hem of her bootcut jeans. "She doesn't even know who I am. And now I'm just in there setting a shitty example."

Hiram sighed. "She's just confused, Shelbs. She's only little and it's a lot for her."

"I don't want to confuse her."

"I know you don't, honey. None of us do."

"So I should just go," she said. She'd resigned herself to it the second she'd left the dining room. It wasn't fair to anyone in this situation to keep stringing them all along like this. Everyone was just getting hurt. It wasn't the first time she'd felt this way, not by a long-shot. But it was the first time that she'd truly realised that _she_ was the piece that didn't fit. Seeing the way Rachel interacted with Hiram and Leroy compared with her, it just… it hurt too much.

"No," Hiram said firmly. "You're not going anywhere. You belong here, Shelbs. We love you."

"I love you too," she replied quickly. She didn't want there to be any doubt that that was true. She'd never felt more love nor been more loved than in the Berry household, but it still didn't mean she belonged there. "But I shouldn't be here. I don't… fit."

"You'll always fit here, Shelbs. Always."

Shelby leaned forwards and rested against the man, allowing him to pull her into a tight embrace. "She doesn't need me," she whispered into Hiram's shirt. "She has you guys and that will always be a million times better than what I can give her."

Hiram stroked her hair down, gripping her even tighter. "I'm going to be very honest right now, okay?"

"'Kay."

"Rachel may not want you right now." Shelby stiffened. "She may be crying out for Leroy or even me when she's in the right mood, but she will always need you. I can promise you that."

"B-but I…"

"But nothing, Shelby. You're her mom. We all agreed that you deserved that spot in her life and you have it, kid. No amount of cussing or smashing plates is going to change that."

"I'm sorry," she sniffled again. "I shouldn't have… I-I'm just really sorry."

He held her tightly. "Shush, baby. I know. It's okay."

"Knock, knock," Leroy called from the doorway. He was carrying an almost sleeping Rachel on his hip.

"Hi," Shelby said meekly.

"Hey, trouble," he smiled, walking further into the room. He hitched Rachel up and she nuzzled into his shoulder. "_Someone_ was getting a little grumpy during her bath so _someone_ is going to bed early."

"Is that right?" Hiram asked. He moved one had from Shelby's back and reached it out to tickle Rachel's bare toes. The little girl grunted and jerked her foot away.

Leroy placed Rachel down on the bed, where she searched for the closest warm body available to take her daddy's place. It was Shelby's. She snuggled her back against her mother's chest with a soft sigh.

Shelby placed a loving kiss onto her damp hair as Hiram put his own on her cheek.

"Goodnight, Star," he said. "Have lots of sweet dreams."

Feeling a newfound reassurance, Shelby lifted the girl and turned her face towards her. "Night night, my beautiful baby," she whispered. "Mommy loves you so much." Rachel reached her tired arms round Shelby's neck and the woman grinned against her little girl's head. "Can I?" she asked the men.

"Be my guest," Leroy told her.

Shelby stood from the bed as Rachel's legs instinctively wrapped around her thin waist. "C'mon, Star. Let's get you tucked in."

She walked back towards the nursery, humming a soothing melody into Rachel's ear. The girl was practically already asleep by the time Shelby laid her back down in her bed, peppering several more kisses onto her little face. "You're the best thing in my life, Star," she told her daughter. "The best thing I'll ever do in my whole life."

Eventually finding it within her to pull away, she smiled as Rachel curled up into her blankets and gave a little snore.

It was only when she rolled over, that Shelby felt her stomach twist horribly. Rachel's yellow night-dress had two wet patches on the top from where her freshly washed hair had pressed against it.

She backed away, eyes widened in horror. She _knew_ it wasn't the same, but she couldn't make her mind work properly right now. She just had to get out of here. Stumbling on a couple of stuffed toys that still littered Rachel's floor, she turned and ran back to the two men.

"Can I go out?" she asked breathlessly, eyes darting between them.

"Shelby?" Hiram started.

She shook her head. "Please, I just… I really need some air. I'll go see Cass or something." They hesitated, sharing a look she couldn't decipher right now. "_Please_."

"Sweetheart," Leroy said, reaching out to touch her arm. She jerked away roughly.

"Please? I-I'll take my coat, and my key, and I swear I'll be home before midnight just… please." She felt like she couldn't breathe.

"Okay, Shelbs," Hiram said slowly. "Sure. Do you need a ride anywhere?"

"No! I… I want to walk…"

"Okay, that's fine."

"_Hiram_."

"No, Leroy- it's okay. You're just going to go to Cassie's, right, Shelbs?"

"Right." She would have agreed with just about anything to get out here as quickly as possible. Her fingers were turning numb and she was acutely aware of her heart thumping in her chest. "Cassie's and back home. I promise."

"I guess that's fine then, honey."

She was already running down the stairs when she heard Leroy call out again. "We love you, Shelbs."

She forced herself to stop and look back up at them. They were wearing matching expressions of worry and confusion. "I love you too. So much. I just… I'm _fine_. I just need to go, okay?" She sighed. "I'll be back before midnight, I promise."

It was ironic, in a way, that she worked so hard to make good on that promise. Maybe if she hadn't, if things had gone a different way once she walked back into the house that night, her whole life would have looked different. But she didn't, _couldn't _have known that as she ran out of the house, gulping in desperately needed lungfuls of the cold evening air.

She couldn't have known what would happen when she walked back in.

* * *

_**A/N: So... I still haven't reached the end of She Used To Be Mine which was literally going to be chapter 3 at one point... Hey ho. I really hoped you enjoyed. This whole flashback sequence- which will be continued in chapter 6- was one of the first things I had planned out for this story. I think a lot is revealed about Shelby's past for sure, plus a lot of little hints. **_

_**Anywho, I hope it's meeting expectations. Next up: what the hell happened to make Shelby leave, how much will she tell Jesse, what will he do about it, a mother-daughter car ride, and a confrontation... I can't guarantee when it will be up cause... essays. **_

_**As always, thanks so much for the support! I can't believe this story has like 40+ followers and 30+ favs... blows my mind. Please let me know what you thought! **_


	6. She Used To Be Mine- Part II

Shelby's head bounced sharply off the glass window as the car pulled to a juddering stop outside the Berry house. She winced and groaned softly when her eyes flicked open too quickly. The streetlight was too bright, too yellow and entirely nauseating. It didn't help, of course, that her world was already spinning, that there appeared to be two streetlights looming over her and sending coarse fluorescent beams into the interior of the shoddy car.

"You okay, Shell?"

His voice echoed painfully around her throbbing head and it seemed to strain at every muscle as she turned to look at him.

Sean had both arms draped over the top of the pleather steering wheel and was looking skeptically up at the house illuminated behind Shelby. He hadn't known what to think when she'd called him in a panic earlier, requesting that he come and pick her up from here. They spoke only occasionally, and not much at all since Shelby had left for college over a year ago. Neither really knew what to say to the other. But he had obliged tonight, fed into her every whim despite both of them knowing that was probably a big mistake. And now he had driven her back here, just like she'd asked.

"You don't have to stay here, you know?" he told her. Even through her drunken haze, she could hear the thinly veiled disgust in his voice. "My ma won't be back until tomorrow afternoon- you can stay with me, if you want."

Shelby shook her head and looked back up at the house. It was almost totally dark save for the porch light left on for her and the dim glow coming from her bedroom, from the _guest_ room, window. The bedside lamp she'd picked out three years ago was on.

"I _want _to be here," she mumbled, unclipping her seatbelt and patting herself down to make sure she wasn't forgetting anything. She didn't know what she was looking for and she didn't notice anything amiss. "I promised I'd be home before midnight."

Both sets of eyes drifted towards the glowing red of Sean's dashboard clock. _23:42. _If anything, she could say that she'd made good on one promise tonight.

"I'm just saying, you have options," he said.

Shelby let out a scoff which mingled with the feeling of nausea in her mouth. "I've _never_ had options, Sean."

He reached across and grabbed one of her hands. His palm was clammy but familiar. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't think I'll ever be able to tell you that enough. But I am so sorry."

"Yeah, well, it's in the past now." She shifted towards the door, but didn't push his hand away.

"I think about it all the time, you know?"

"Think about what?"

"What things might have been like if I… if we had… You know."

"What?"

"Kept her." Shelby stiffened. Her head seemed to loll towards him of its own accord. She didn't have the strength to keep it upright anymore. "If all of us were a family right now."

"That doesn't change anything," she muttered quickly.

He sighed and tightened his grip around her fingers. "I understand that. I just thought you should know."

"I can't," Shelby whispered, shutting her eyes tightly to block out the sight of their still intertwined hands. The yellow light somehow pierced through her shut lids. "I can't do this with you right now."

"I'm just saying, Shel. You would have been a great mom."

Two responses fought for dominance on Shelby's tongue. "No I wou-… I _am_ her…" She swallowed thickly. "I'm not doing this right now, Sean. I'm just not, okay?"

"Okay, I'm sorry."

There was a pain, a tremble, in his voice which forced her eyes back open and towards his. They were _so_ like Rachel's. Big and brown and always questioning. Always seeming to ask for something that Shelby could never deliver. "I gotta go."

But still, neither of them let go of the other's hand.

"Are you going to be okay? Shall I walk you in?"

"_No_," Shelby snapped. Sure, he probably meant well, but the last thing she wanted was for Hiram and Leroy to know where she'd been. It was bad enough that they thought she'd run out of the house to go see Cassie, they didn't need to know that she'd actually done… That she'd once again proved everyone right in what they thought about her. "I just… Thank you, but I really have to go."

"Anytime, Shell. I mean it." He squeezed her hand again and she returned it with a weak smile. She _knew_ this whole evening had been a bad idea, but somehow it still felt right, comforting. He reached into the back seat and pulled out the glass bottle Shelby had been taking swigs from all evening. "Do you.. do you want to take the rest?"

She hesitated, eyes fixed on the depleted remnants of the swirling clear liquid. "I- I shouldn't."

He shrugged. "I'm not going to drink it. And, I mean, I probably shouldn't have it in the car while I'm driving. Just in case I'm pulled over, you know."

Her hand inched slowly forward. Were she more sober, less emotionally wrecked, the rational side of her brain probably would have won out. But she wasn't. She could still feel the dried tears stiffening the skin on her cheeks and the dampness Sean had left between her legs.

"Thanks," she muttered, clasping her hand around the neck of the bottle and pulling it protectively into her chest.

"Like I said, anytime."

Shelby nodded, her eyes fixed on the red bottle cap and her fingers picking at the flaking paper label. Though definitively drunk, she was aware of him watching her intently and she didn't know what to make of it.

Suddenly, he leaned in towards her and, for the first time that evening, caught _her_ in a deep and unexpected kiss. She'd been the one to initiate the others they'd shared, desperately seeking out some sense of normalcy and comfort. This felt different, though. His tongue parted her lips as his arms snaked around her, pulling both of their bodies towards the centre of the car. The glass bottle fell through Shelby's grasp, landing with a muted thud onto the carpeted interior.

He still tasted like cigarettes and, well, _her_, but the taste was somehow comforting. A tingling sensation flooded through her. It wasn't necessarily sexual- she was feeling too drunk for that now- but the feeling of closeness, of being wanted, _needed, _by someone was something she had never been able to resist.

She had friends at college, yes. But she was certain they wouldn't miss her presence too much if she weren't there. Her mother hadn't spoken to her in well over a year and her brother was off in Columbus with his new girlfriend and his hotshot hospital job. Hiram and Leroy loved her, she knew that, and yet they were moving on with their lives without her- forming the perfect little family with their, with _her, _daughter. All without Shelby being there. And Rachel herself: well, she'd made it pretty clear today that she didn't need her mother. She didn't even know who Shelby was.

And so she returned the kiss. Allowed _Sean_ this time to take the lead, tugging at the edge of her sweater and pulling it roughly over her head. Their lips broke apart for just a second before he was back again, kissing her with an even more ferocious intensity. In a swift movement, he'd gripped his hands around her thin, bare waist and settled her on his lap. Between her straddled legs, she could feel him growing hard again and became acutely aware that she didn't feel _anything_ down there this time.

She hesitated for a moment, pulling back slightly. Sean took this opportunity to attach his mouth to her neck, kissing and sucking at the spots where she was certain she already had hickies forming from their activity earlier in the evening. She brushed off her feelings. It didn't necessarily matter. The knowledge that he wanted her would be enough to get her through.

Besides, wasn't this where people had always suggested she excelled anyway?

Sean grunted as he used his legs to elevate her, fiddling with the stiff metal button of her jeans, while his mouth travelled down the valley of her breasts.

"Do you have another condom?" Shelby murmured into his curly brown hair. She may have been drunk, but it wasn't something she ever forgot about anymore. The very house they were parked outside of was reminder enough.

"Uh." Sean ceased his ministrations on her waistband and patted down his pockets. "I don't think so. We'll be careful, I'll-"

But Shelby had already pulled away. She kept one arm hooked round the back of his neck whilst her other hand found the driver's side door, clutching it for stability.

"We can't then," she told him clearly.

"But I-"

"_No_, Sean."

To his credit, he simply nodded glumly and reached over to retrieve her discarded sweater. She took it with an awkward mutter of thanks. Slipping it back over her body, she untangled their legs and hauled herself into the passenger seat.

For a moment, they sat in silence, both regathering their winded breaths. Shelby stared at her lap. What was she _doing_? This was the boy who had run a mile in the opposite direction when she told him that she was pregnant. Who had questioned whether the baby she was carrying was actually his. And here she was seeking some kind of sick comfort from him. Getting drunk off his gas station vodka and smoking his cheap cigarettes and… _that_.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…" he said cautiously.

"It's fine," she quickly replied, throwing a tentative glance up into his worried eyes. She knew exactly what he was thinking and she hated it. She didn't need anyone's pity, especially not _his. _He went to speak again, but she cut him off. "Seriously, you don't need to… You didn't so… It's- it's fine."

"Shell-"

"I really gotta go."

Grabbing her jacket of the dash, she opened the door and forced her stumbling limbs out into the cold night. Her left foot caught on the forgotten bottle and she stared at it for a moment before reaching down and tucking it safely under her arm.

"Night, Sean. Thanks for… Just thanks."

"I meant it, Shell. Anytime. I- I've missed you." He added the last part quickly, seemingly scared that she might slam the door shut and wouldn't hear him. She immediately wished she had.

"Right." Their eyes met in a lingering stare flooded with emotion. "Well, goodnight." She moved to push the door closed, but he reached out and held it by the interior handle.

"Shell- wait."

"_What?_" She was aware that it was getting closer and closer to midnight- she just hoped the Berry men weren't waiting up for her.

"I- I know I shouldn't ask but… do you…" His eyes flickered downwards for a moment. "Will you just tell her that I love her?"

Shelby's legs seemed to shake under her. This was all too much. She should never have called him.

"I gotta go," she choked out.

And with that, she turned and stumbled up the gravelled pathway towards the house. After fumbling to get the key into the lock several times, she turned and raised a hand in Sean's direction. Through the glossy reflections of the exterior street in the car windows, she saw him give a wave back before the car stuttered to life and headed off.

As quietly as she could, Shelby crept into the house and pushed the door shut behind her, cringing as its heavy wooden frame clicked back into place. She threw a glance up the stairs where everything seemed completely still and quiet. A little sigh of relief escaped her at the thought that maybe Hiram and Leroy were already asleep and she wouldn't have to confront them while she was in this state.

She hesitated for a moment, trying to force her fuzzy mind to rationally think over her next move. Part of her knew that she should just go straight up to bed and hope that everything felt better in the morning. But the alcohol she'd consumed thus far was beginning to wear off; the warm and tingly feeling in her body being replaced by both physical and emotional aches.

So she headed to the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later, her dirty sneakers and jacket were discarded in the middle of the tiled floor, there was a newly finished carton of orange juice lying on its side on the counter, and the bottle of vodka was empty. Shelby was sitting on the ground, her back up against the whirring dishwasher. The vibrations coming out from the machine were somehow comforting; it was almost like there was someone sitting there with her.

She knew that if either of the men came downstairs right now, she would be in categorically Big Trouble. They may be pretty indulgent at playing off her college exploits, but she predicted that if they ever actually encountered her in this state, it wouldn't go down too well. Especially not when she was drinking alone while her baby daughter was sleeping upstairs.

Shelby brought her hands up to cup her bleary head. Again, she had to ask herself just what the hell she thought she was doing. It didn't seem to matter though. No matter how many times she berated herself, it was like she just couldn't stop herself from choosing the worst possible ways to act. She was stuck in the riptide of a self-destructive spiral and she didn't think she was strong enough to even attempt to swim out.

And it had to be down to her. Because she knew that she was lucky in a way. Without deserving it at all, she had somehow been blessed with good things around her. Hiram and Leroy would do anything for her, and more importantly, anything for Rachel. She had Cassie and April who always liked to check in on her. Hell, she even had _Sean _apparently. So it must be _her_ who needed to get a grip and sort herself out for everybody's sake.

But would it matter if she wasn't there? Would anyone actually, truly miss her? She wasn't sure. A large part of her thought that everyone might be better off if they didn't have to deal with her anymore. The burden would be gone and everyone could just get on with their lives.

She didn't try to be a burden. It just happened. But she didn't know how to make it stop.

She just wanted to make it stop.

Swiping angrily at the few tears which had made an appearance, she hastily threw back the rest of the drink, gagging at the pungent taste of the weakly diluted vodka. She took a couple of deep breaths. There was a burning trail going from her mouth all the way down to her stomach, but it was comforting. It was warm and it was something she could actually _feel. _

The dishwasher rumbled with the sound of water and she suddenly became acutely aware of the fact that she was desperate for a pee. It was probably time to head up to bed anyway. Her vodka supply was gone and she thought she might be able to fall asleep without too much trouble now the warmth was back. She shifted on her butt, turning so she could hoist herself up from the floor by gripping onto the counter top. Her body felt a million times heavier than normal and she blamed it on the Doritos she'd eaten with Sean.

She slipped her shoes back on her feet, treading on the backs, and grabbed her jacket and the empty glass bottle before carefully making her way upstairs. She flinched every time the stairs creaked or her foot landed too heavily but she couldn't even hear most of the noise she was making over the sound of her heavy breathing and the blood swirling in her head.

The metal zipper on her jacket clinked against the bottle when she threw them down onto her bed but she barely noticed this time. She was determined to make it to the bathroom before she wet herself. And she did. Just.

She rocked back and forth slightly on the toilet, willing the world to come back into clearer focus. But if it did, she knew she'd miss the buzz, the freedom that came at this level of inebriation. Finally, she found herself standing in front of the big mirror, watching herself as she fumbled with the bar of soap and attempted to wash her hands. _Deep breaths_, she instructed herself, _you can do this. _She looked up, meeting her own eyes. God, she looked like shit.

Her hair was flicking up at the ends, an annoying habit it had developed ever since she let Lauren cut it, and her skin was pale and sallow. Had she looked this bad the whole time she was with Sean? She definitely hoped not. Maybe the dingy lighting in the car had helped to mask it some. Either way, it hadn't seemed to put him off too much.

Three rounds in the backseat of Sean's car. He'd had that car while they were in high school. They'd _done_ things in that car while they were in high school. She didn't know for sure, but there was a chance that Rachel had been conceived in that car.

She couldn't stop mulling over Sean's words: _"If all of us were a family right now." _

They couldn't have done it. Sean was an idiot. He'd dropped out of college after his first semester and was now living at home, barely picking up shifts at his uncle's warehouse. And Shelby knew she wouldn't have been able to juggle a baby, school and trying to function as a human being. She couldn't even do the last one as it was. They would have been terrible parents.

And yet here she was, supposedly _being_ a parent. That's what Hiram had said earlier, right? That she _was _Rachel's mom. So why was she still so bad at it? Was there something _that_ fundamentally wrong with her as a person that stopped her having those maternal instincts other people seemed to get so easily.

The only one she'd actually got was the fact that she loved Rachel. She loved her so much that sometimes she thought her whole body would just explode from the feeling. Her baby was light and love and joy personified. When talking to Cass or April about it, she could never quite put it into words. She just knew that she loved her daughter.

And apparently Sean did too. Sean loved their daughter. Maybe it made her heartless or just cynical, but she'd never expected that he did. Would they ever even meet? It didn't seem fair. Shelby barely got to see Rachel these days, and her heart ached for her all the time. Did Sean have that too? Despite how badly he may have hurt her, Shelby wouldn't have wished that pain upon anyone.

Staring resolutely at herself, though her body kept bobbing with a drunken instability, she was flooded by the desire to see her child. She would just have a little look in, make sure Rachel was okay, and then go to bed.

After tiptoeing carefully down the hallway, she pushed against the door of Rachel's room and took a few steps inside. Her baby was peacefully sleeping, nestled up with her little pink blanket pulled up to her chin and her thumb secured in her mouth. There was a serene smile on her face that made Shelby's heart soar. Rachel was happy. She was healthy. She was loved.

Drawn by the same force that had propelled her towards the sleeping toddler earlier in the day, Shelby knelt down in front of the small bed and just watched Rachel breathe.

"Hi, baby," she whispered after a few quiet moments. "It's me. Your mom." She was barely aware of the volume of her voice drifting upwards as she spoke. "I know we had a rough time earlier, but this weekend's going to be great, Star. You know why?" She left a pause. "Because me and you are together."

The little girl exhaled a large breath which sent the ends of her hair covering her face jumping into the air. With a fond smile, Shelby carefully tucked them away behind her ear. How was her child so perfect? How had such a good thing come from such a fucked up place?

"You know, Star," she continued softly. "I was with your daddy tonight. Your other… other daddy." Using a hand to steady herself as much as she could, she lowered herself down so she was sitting on the carpeted floor. "Now he and I don't really get on very well sometimes, but we did something so good in making you. _So_ good." She traced a finger lightly over Rachel's face. Her cheeks, her eyebrows, her chin. The girl's nose crinkled at the touch, but she stayed asleep. "He… uh… he wanted me to pass a message on to you, baby. He says he loves you."

Rachel stayed silently asleep.

"Yeah I don't know what to think either, babe," Shelby told her. She watched her baby steadily breathing for a few more minutes until she felt her eyes beginning to swing shut. Forcing them back open, she clambered to her feet. It really wouldn't be good to be found in here still in last night's clothes come morning.

She began to stumble back towards the door until her foot caught on a discarded toy. For a few, futile seconds, she attempted to regain her balance, limbs flailing like an old cartoon character. She landed on the floor with a loud bang.

"_Shit_," she hissed, trying to pull herself back up onto all fours. The wind had been completely knocked out of her and she kneeled panting.

In her bed, Rachel began to grizzle at the disturbance. She let out a few, short whimpers, which soon developed into a longer, piercing cry.

Shelby's head spun round, eyes widened in panic. She crawled quickly back towards the bed.

"Hey, no, _no_, it's okay, Rach," she soothed desperately. She reached the edge of the bed, and extended a hand out to the small girl who was blinking hard, trying to understand why she'd been woken up like this. "I'm sorry, Star. Mommy didn't mean to wake you."

Rachel frowned at the unfamiliar woman before her and began to wail again. "D-Daddy," she sobbed, bringing the pink blanket up to cover her face.

"It's okay, Rachel," Shelby tried again. Her words were having little effect though, and Rachel's cries intensified. She looked back at the open door, hoping and praying with everything in her that Hiram and Leroy would stay asleep. A deep breath. Right, she could do this. All she needed to do was get Rachel settled again, and then she could just go to bed.

Acting purely on instinct - maybe she did have more maternal tendencies than she'd initially thought, or maybe it was the vodka driven lack of inhibition - she pulled the girl into her arms, lifting her off the bed and settling her on her lap.

"There we go, baby," she whispered. "You're okay, you're safe, I promise."

The cries worsened at first but with Shelby's murmured reassurances and gentle rubbing on her back, Rachel started to settle.

"I'm never going to let anything hurt you, Star, I promise," Shelby said, placing a kiss on the top of Rachel's soft hair. She allowed herself a small smile- she had done it. She had calmed her kid down enough to make her feel safe and loved.

"Shelby?" Hiram's voice came from the doorway and Shelby tore her eyes away from her baby. He looked panicked and… was that anger? "What's going on?"

"I-," Shelby looked down at the toddler in her arms. "I didn't mean to, I swear."

"Mean to what?" he asked, crossing the room quickly. Shelby couldn't see his features as clearly now he wasn't standing in the light of the hallway, but she could hear his stern tone.

"To wake her up I just… I fell," she admitted. She looked down at Rachel to avoid Hiram's gaze. She was so perfect. Everything about her was just so… amazing. Her eyes were fluttering shut again.

Hiram, however, had his attention fully on the teenager. He could sense something was not quite right. "Shelbs, put her down and come here."

Shelby broke away from the tranquility of Rachel for a moment. She knew that tone. That was the 'you've really fucked up this time' tone. "No," she said. She kept her voice soft for Rachel's sake, but the message was clear.

"_Shelbs_."

"_No_."

She suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder and then Rachel being pulled from her arms. "No," she said again, pulling the girl closer in towards her chest. "She's fine, she's going back to sleep… No… You can't."

"Shelby, can you please put her in her bed and come talk to me?" Hiram asked calmly. But it was almost too calm. Shelby felt the tension bubbling beneath his words.

Hiram sighed and moved away from mother and daughter, walking back out of the room. Shelby took a deep breath. They were peaceful again. She watched as Rachel's eyes shuttered closed once more, but this time they didn't give any sign of wanting to open again. She rocked the little girl in her arms. The feeling of warmth was cascading through her body. It was all perfect.

"Leroy, can you please sort Rachel out? I think Shelby and I need to have a talk." Hiram's speech may have been directed at his husband, but even in this state, Shelby could tell that she was the one who was meant to hear it.

"I told you," she said sharply, turning her attention to the two men standing in the doorway, "we're _fine_. Rachel's almost asleep again and-"

Leroy had crossed the room, arms outstretched, ready to take the girl. Shelby frowned and moved away. She got to her feet again, more unsteadily now since she was weighed down by Rachel, and stepped back.

"Shelbs, I think it would be best if we just got her back into bed," Leroy said with a strained smile.

Shelby tightened her grip on Rachel, who began to wriggle slightly in her arms. "She's _fine_," she repeated tightly, forcing her tongue not to slur the words together.

"Shelby," Leroy began, "I need you to put Rachel in the bed or give her to me."

"Do you not think I know what's best for _my_ daughter?" Shelby spat. The sharp tone made Rachel whimper so she rearranged her in her arms, moving her from a cradling position until she was sitting up on Shelby's hip. The mother kissed her daughter's head, relishing in the closeness and warmth Rachel brought. This was better than the vodka, she decided. "You can go. We're fine."

Leroy looked back at his husband, who also began to walk towards the two of them.

"Shelby," Hiram said evenly, "I need you to put Rachel down and come with me."

"Why?" Shelby asked. She defensively pulled Rachel in closer. "She just wants me right now."

Another look of concern passed between the two men. Rachel let out a sharp wail, wriggling in Shelby's grasp.

"It's not that we don't trust you," Leroy said. "It's just that Rachel's needs her sleep."

"Why can't she sleep right here?" she countered. "In her mother's arms. It's where she belongs."

She missed the way both men seemed to recoil at her words. She wasn't even really aware of what she was saying by this point. Her head was spinning, her legs were shaking, and the only thing she could really focus on was protecting the baby in her arms.

"_Now_, Shelby," Hiram said. It was maybe the angriest she'd ever heard him. But she didn't understand what the problem was. Rachel seemed fine. Sure, she was beginning to cry a little again. But that's what babies did, right? Cry?

"No!" She was clinging to the girl like a lifeline. They weren't going to rip her from her arms, not this time. Not if she had anything to do with it.

She soon found she didn't. Before she could make sense of what was happening, Hiram had his arms around her now shaking shoulders while Leroy made quick work of taking Rachel from her arms. The girl was screaming, or maybe _she_ was. Shelby wasn't quite sure.

"Come on," Hiram said softly into her ear. He put a strong arm around Shelby's middle and guided her out of the nursery and towards her own bedroom. "Here we go." His tone mimicked the one Shelby had been using on Rachel a few minutes ago. Calming, but in a desperate way.

He settled the teenager down on the bed, flicked the light switch on and moved back to stand in front of her. His dark eyes scanned her whole appearance in a way which made Shelby stare coldly at the ground.

"I want to go back to Rachel," she said, breaking the cold silence. "She needs me."

Hiram sighed. "What she needs right now, Shelbs, is to go back to sleep and to try to forget that any of this ever happened."

Shelby's head snapped up, her eyes blazing with fury. "What? But I didn't hurt her, I swear… I just…"

"Where did you go tonight?" he asked.

Shelby's scrambled brain couldn't come up with a lie quickly enough, so she just shrugged.

"You didn't just go to Cassie's, did you?"

Again, she shrugged.

Shelby felt the bed dip next to her as Hiram sat down and wrapped an arm around her once more. "What happened, Shelbs?"

"I…" Words had completely escaped her. She wasn't even sure her mouth knew how to make them anymore. The warmth was completely gone. Now she just felt confused and… floppy. It was like she was made of rubber… of- what was that toy she had when she was a kid?- like a slinky. Or like slime. She felt like she was melting away into nothingness under his stern gaze.

"'Cause you smell like a brewery."

"And a chimney," Leroy said from the doorway, walking into the room. He looked directly at Hiram, ignoring Shelby completely. "She's down. She's asleep, I think."

"Thank god," Hiram muttered.

Shelby listened to their words with a deep scowl. She _knew_ this. She _knew _that Rachel was okay, and no one trusted her. She tried to slip out of Hiram's grasp, but he held tight.

"No, honey," he told her. "We need to talk about this."

"Talk about _what_?"

"You, sweetheart," Leroy said, kneeling down in front of her. He laid a hand on her knee. Shelby hated the touch, but couldn't find the energy to kick it off. "What happened?"

"Nothing!" she snapped. "I told you, I fell and I'm sorry for waking Rach up but we had it under control. She was _fine, _she was going back to sleep."

"So you keep saying, Shelbs, but she was crying when I got there," Leroy said softly. She hated it. It was too patronising. And was she? Was Rachel crying? She couldn't remember.

"We were fine," Shelby repeated.

She kept her gaze down on her lap. Rachel had been there a few minutes ago and now it just felt painfully empty. It was like when she'd first given birth, and Hiram and Leroy had taken Rachel home. Her stomach was still puffy with the ghost of where Rachel used to be but she didn't have anything to show for it. She hadn't eaten a full meal for months after, wishing for the physical evidence that she'd had a baby to just disappear.

"We need you to tell us where you went tonight, Shelby," Hiram said.

"Doesn't matter," she replied, annoyed at the way her words were beginning to blur together.

"Fine then," he said, more sharply now, "how much have you had to drink?"

"What?" Shelby could feel her heart quickening its rhythm. "Uh nothing."

"Don't lie, Shelby." She noticed his gaze travel away from her face onto the empty bottle behind her.

"I'm not!" she protested weakly.

Hiram placed his hands on her shoulders and twisted her body round to face him. "Yes you are," he said simply. "How much have you had, and are you okay?"

"I'm _fine_," she said again. She was getting tired of the phrase, but she'd say it a thousand more times if she needed to.

"Where did you get the alcohol?"

"Sean," Shelby muttered without thinking. It was like her brain couldn't catch up to her mouth

"_What_?" Hiram asked. Shelby immediately shrunk back a little, pulling away from his grasp. It seemed to loosen a little as he rubbed his hand tiredly over his face and exchanged a look with his husband.

"You went to see Sean tonight?" Leroy clarified after a few moments of awkward silence.

Shelby nodded, eyes fixed on the soft cream carpet.

"Why, Shelbs?" he asked. She shrugged. "I told you it was a bad idea to let her out in that state, Hiram."

"Well I didn't know she was going to go running off to him, did I?"

"She shouldn't have gone anywhere!"

"I'm sitting right here!" Shelby snapped, her head swinging up and looking between the two men. "And it's none of your business who I want to go see or what I do!"

"None of our business?" Hiram repeated sarcastically. "Shelbs it _is _our business. Especially when you come home blind drunk and decide to go and wake Rachel up!"

"I didn't mean to!" she shouted. There were tears of anger and confusion burning the corners of her eyes. She wasn't sure how long they had been there; she only really noticed them when she felt a warm drop running down the side of her face. "I didn't! And everything was fine until _you_ came in and tried to take _my _daughter away!"

She swiped angrily at her face, refusing to meet Hiram's eyes. He had moved away from her and was sitting stiffly, staring at her. _Shit_.

"I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," she said quietly. Leroy laid a gentle hand on her knee, but Hiram's face didn't change.

"You're always sorry after the fact, Shelbs. You need to learn that growing up means taking some responsibility in the moment. You can't just lash out at people for the rest of your life."

"I…" Her tongue felt completely dry, like she'd swallowed a mouthful of sand. She was suddenly acutely aware of _everything_. The smell of alcohol and smoke entrenched in her clothes. The way her last scraps of makeup were caked onto her skin. Her jeans pressing tightly into her stomach against all the liquid she'd consumed that evening. Her stupid new haircut. The tiny silver hoops in her ears.

She hated it. Hated everything about herself. Each hand found the opposite wrist and she began to dig her short nails into her skin. She just needed to breathe. She needed everything to stop.

"I can't do this right now," Hiram said, standing up and pulling his blue bathrobe more tightly around him. He turned to his husband. "Can you deal with her?"

"I don't need-"

"Sure," Leroy sighed, patting Shelby's leg again. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

Hiram nodded. "I love you, Shelbs. I'll see you in the morning. I hope you'll be ready to have an adult conversation about this then."

The bedroom door closed with a click behind him as Shelby peered tearfully up at Leroy. His small sympathetic smile was enough to send a choking sob up her throat.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered.

"Hey," Leroy said softly. "No more crying, honey." He stood up and sat next to her on the bed, wrapping a strong arm around her. "Try to take some deep breaths for me."

Shelby complied and eventually her cries began to soften. "I hate this," she murmured into Leroy's pyjama top.

"Hate what, babe?"

"That I keep fucking up."

He sighed and rubbed a hand down her back. "I know, Shelby. But one day it's going to be easier, I promise you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He took her chin in his hands and forced her to look up at him. "Do we need to go to the clinic tomorrow?"

Shelby jerked backwards, her whole body tensing. "The clinic?"

Leroy nodded. "I need to know whether you need emergency contraception, Shelby."

A sound halfway between a laugh and a grunt of pain escaped her lips. "Is that really what you think of me?"

Maybe it was harsh. After all, that _is _what she had been doing with Sean. That's why she had called him, she had thought she needed the comfort that only he could provide her. But it hurt, it poked at an old wound deep down within her to have to said aloud back to her.

"Shelby, I'm just trying to make sure that you're safe, sweethea-"

"Don't!" she shouted, jumping up off the bed. Her nails dug harder into her wrists. "Don't even pretend like you really care. _God_. You know, I really thought you were different. I really thought that you didn't see me like everyone else did. But you do, don't you? You and Hiram just think I'm some kind of _slut_!"

"Shelbs-"

"No! You don't get to come in here playing the martyr. You wouldn't even _care _if I got pregnant! You'd probably both be _so_ happy. Why don't I give Sean another call? See if we can't make Rachel a nice baby brother or sister?"

Her whole body was shaking, more unsteady than ever. She grasped on to the dresser for support and glared up at the older man.

He pressed his lips tightly together. "Shelby, you know that's not what we think of you. I'm sorry, I'm really just trying to make sure that tonight doesn't turn into something you'll regret."

"Regret?" Shelby repeated bitterly. "You think I regret Rachel?"

"That's not what I said."

"It's what you meant!"

He got up and crossed over to her, taking her firmly by the shoulders. "Calm down," he instructed sternly. "You don't get to shout at me in my own house."

"Well you don't get to call me a slut. You said you wouldn't… I- I thought you two were different…" She couldn't breathe. She felt like she'd been kicked repeatedly in the stomach.

"Shelby, you're drunk and you're a mess right now. You need to go to bed, but we're going to talk about all of this in the morning. It's really not okay, honey."

"I don't _want _to talk about it!"

He shook his head and sighed, his dark eyes searching every inch of her face in worry. "We _are_ going to talk about it." He leaned forward and pressed a kiss on her forehead. "We love you, Shelby, and we want you to be a part of Rachel's life. But not like this."

She was sure that if it wasn't for his hands still clasping her shoulders, she would have fallen to the ground then and there. "_What_? No! You can't…. You- you… You can't take my baby away from me."

"Go to bed and we'll talk about this in the morning."

He squeezed her shoulders one last time and began to walk towards the door.

"_No_!" she screamed, following after him. "You can't do that! You can't take her!" She staggered, tripping against the bedframe. "You can't! I won't let you!"

Leroy turned back to face her. "It's really not up to you, Shelbs. We don't want it to come to that but-"

"You can't!" she screamed again. The tears were flowing from her eyes in furious streams now. She hated them.

Leroy stepped back towards her, extending his arm to guide her into the bed. Her heart hammered in her chest. She'd been here before. It all started with a push towards the bed. But she wasn't twelve anymore. Now she could fight back.

"Don't _touch _me!" she cried, flinching away from him. He ignored her, taking her arm and trying to settle her down. "Get _off_ me!" Before she knew what she was doing, her hand had made contact with the side of his face. The sound of flesh on flesh echoed around the room and, for a moment, Shelby stood paralysed in horror. Her mouth gaped open, ready to apologise, but she stopped when she saw the look of shock and hurt etched into the older man's features.

Now there was no shouting, she could hear her baby's cries. They were muffled by the closed door, but they pierced right through her, straight into her heart.

"Rachel," she whispered. Leroy and the slap forgotten, she stumbled towards the door, desperate to reach the girl.

"No," Leroy said coldly, easily overtaking her and pointing back towards the bed. "Don't even think about it, Shelby. You've caused enough trouble tonight."

"But-"

"No," he said again. There was a sound of movement out in the hallway and then the cries began to subside. "Go to bed."

Then he turned and walked out of the door without another glance back. Shelby stared around the now empty room for a moment trying to work out how in the hell she'd gotten to this point. Her head was swirling with everything that had happened since she arrived home that night. Everything that had happened since she stepped off the plane.

She'd screwed up. She knew that much. What she didn't know was whether she'd ever be able to rectify it this time. Even through all the mistakes she'd made in her life, it had never been like this. She'd never hurt people she cared about this much.

She threw herself down onto the bed but found that laying down only added to her dizziness. She couldn't even find comfort in the familiarity of the cream sheets or the glowing fairy lights wrapped around the metal headboard. They hadn't been on when she'd left to see Sean. And there hadn't been a set of fresh towels at the end of her bed. Leroy and Hiram had done that for her. They had done _everything_ for her.

And what had she done for them?

Through all her thoughts, she couldn't get what Leroy had said out of her head. _"We want you to be a part of Rachel's life. But not like this." _

_Like this._ But what if this was just who she was? She'd been this way for as long as she could remember. Stubborn, moody, self-destructive.

But they were right. What could _she_ offer Rachel? All she was doing was ruining the family. Like some dark cloud hovering over an otherwise serene picture. She knew all too well about dark clouds and what they did. She didn't want to be one for _anyone_, least of all her daughter.

Her phone, still tucked into the back pocket of her jeans, vibrated softly. Wiping away the newest tears, she pulled it out and forced her eyes to focus on the new text she had received.

'_Hope you got in safely and you're all okay. Remember, you can always call me if you need anything. - Sean.'_

She stared at the screen for a long moment, not only because it took a while for her to make sense of the letters, but because it finally hit her. She didn't belong here. She'd forced her way onto the inside and into a place where she didn't fit. As much as there was still pain with Sean, when she was with him tonight she hadn't felt like an outsider. She'd felt needed, and that was all she'd ever wanted.

Sean was on the outside when it came to Rachel. And maybe that's where she belonged too.

She cast a glance around the room that had once been hers regretfully. She knew what she had to do.

Five minutes later, she hung up the phone and made her way towards the yet unopened bags at the end of her bed. She just needed to change out of these clothes. Fumbling to find a large hoodie she knew was in there somewhere, her hand brushed against something soft. With a small frown, she pulled it out. It was the stuffed penguin she'd found for Rachel in that toy store in New York last week. Another sob choked her as she held it tightly, clutching it to her face. Was this the last thing she'd ever buy for her baby?

She found the hoodie and pulled it on over her sweater. It was cold out and she didn't know how long she was going to be outside for. She thrust the rest of her stuff back into the duffle bag and slipped her shoes back on before her eyes fell again on the penguin. She had to give it to her.

Leaving her bags for now, she opened the door and poked her head out into the hallway. It was silent again. She didn't know exactly how long it had been since Leroy had left her room, but clearly it was long enough for them to settle Rachel and go back to sleep. She quietly made her way down the corridor and stood, once more, outside Rachel's room. She would be in so much trouble if Leroy or Hiram were to catch her right now, but that didn't matter anymore.

In a few minutes, nothing she did would matter to them anymore.

She creaked the door open and looked inside. Rachel was curled up in her blankets again, looking more peaceful than ever. Another tear found its way down her cheek and she brushed it aside. She didn't need to cry: this was the best thing for everyone.

Everything happened in a blur. She laid the penguin down next to Rachel and placed one last kiss on her baby's head. She stood back up and just watched her, wishing that things were different. But she'd had her chance. She knew that. She'd had every opportunity and she'd completely blown it.

"Bye, Star. I love you so much," she whispered.

The tears clouding her eyes meant she didn't even notice Rachel beginning to stir once more. In fact, she was completely unaware of the fact that the toddler was awake until she was halfway back down the hallway towards her room. The piercing cry froze her in place.

She couldn't even do saying goodbye right.

Panic flooded through her. They would hate her even more if they knew she'd woken her up again. She had to get out. Immediately, she turned in place and hurried back towards the stairs. Her phone began to vibrate again in her pocket and she pressed it towards her ear.

"Shelby?" Sean's voice came through the speaker. "I'm outside."

"'Kay," she whispered back, taking the stairs down two at a time.

She was certain she could hear footsteps above her and Rachel beginning to scream again. She had to get out.

Five minutes into the journey towards the bus station, her phone rang again. And again. And again. She declined all the calls. She didn't want to hear it, that she'd screwed up again. She _knew_ she had. That's why she was doing this.

She eventually turned it off. She would have thrown it out the window, but Sean was making her promise that she would call him the second she got back to New York. He was paying for her ticket, and lending her his big denim jacket so it seemed like the least she could do.

At six-thirty that morning, Shelby's head banged off a glass window once more. This time, the throbbing in her skull was worse. With every heartbeat, a wave of pain shot through her. She groaned and shifted in the uncomfortable bus seat, trying to block out the early-morning light streaming in through the big window. But her body didn't want to let her sleep again.

Instead, she had to feel every rattling motion of the vehicle as it crossed through Ohio towards Columbus. With every judder, it was like a piece of her heart was being left behind. She'd torn it to shreds in Rachel's bedroom and now it was being scattered across the country like drops of gas falling from a leaky tail-pipe.

When she had to change buses in Pittsburgh later that afternoon, the alcohol had mostly worn off. She wasn't sure which aches and pains she could put down to the raging hangover and which were the fallout of her shattered emotions. She just bought a coffee, a pack of cigarettes and tried to ignore it all.

Back in New York, she'd texted Sean and then thrown out her phone. The next day, she used some of her meagre savings to buy a new one. Three weeks later, she terminated the lease on the apartment Hiram and Leroy helped to pay for and bounced around for a while before effectively moving in with Henry. Piece by piece, she rearranged her life so that it was like the past few years had never happened. But she could never go back and find all the pieces of her broken heart.

* * *

_**Hiiiii... I'm SO sorry this took so long to get out. And that it's a bit shorter. Life got very busy and this chapter gave me so much trouble. I really wanted to do it justice... I don't know. I'm not the biggest fan but I can promise that things are going to start moving more quickly soon. **_

_**Anyway, I hope you did enjoy and I would love to know what you thought! Thanks for all the ongoing support- means the world! xo**_


	7. The Confrontation

_**A/N: For anyone who wants an activity for when they're hiding from their families over the holidays- here! Longest chapter yet...**_

* * *

The words coming from Shelby's mouth tear her open. In a straight line down the centre of her body, she is splitting in two. The secrets of her past, the memories that are simultaneously ever-present and yet constantly unwanted, pour out of her into her office. They form rivulets around the clutter on her desk and fall onto the carpeted floor in dull thuds.

She finds once she's started, she can't stop. And the secrets just keep on coming. Soon, they're not only seeping out of her, escaping from the hole she's carving on her body, but they're arriving from all directions. She can see them running down the office walls, puddling on the bookcase, fogging up the glass window which remains their only escape into the outside world. The air around her seems to grow thick and wet; when she inhales, she can smell them, pungent and suffocating. They fill her ears too, roaring with 'what ifs' and 'should've, would've, could'ves'.

The office is drowning. _She's_ drowning. It's a sea of stained yellow dresses and weights in pockets in doctors' offices. Vodka bottles bought at gas stations where they never fuss about fake ids, starchy sheets in upstate rehab facilities, bus tickets, sonograms, a pair of panties tucked into a blazer, vaginal ultrasounds, burned blankets. They flit nonchalantly around the room, eyeing her with a cruel casualty that only helps to tear the wound deeper, to let more of them out. They want their friends to join them.

They're rising up now, sloshing around the front of the door. It opens into the office. Soon, they won't be able to fight against the tidal wave to pry it open. They're going to be stuck. She looks around again and realises, for the first time, that she's alone. Wasn't Jesse here? Isn't that how it all began? Shelby's not sure she can quite remember. It's like she's on that stupid lifeboat again, the wheeled chair is getting caught up in the riptides dancing around the office floor. She lunges backwards and forwards, making it hard for her eyes to ever focus on one spot. She can't see. The air is too thick with them. She can't breathe.

"Shelby?"

Jesse's voice sounds like it's coming from the far end of a long tunnel. She knows she can somehow hear him over the roaring of her emotions, but she's not sure she has the energy to shout back.

"Yeah, I think she's okay. She's just breathing really heavily… Yeah? Okay… Will do… Shelby?"

Suddenly, the feeling of Jesse pressing against her shoulder sends her head shooting upwards.

"Shelby?" he says again. His blue eyes are staring up at her, filled with concern. He shakes her shoulder a little more. "Shelby? Can you try to take some deep breaths for me?"

He begins to inhale and exhale slowly, deeply, using the grip of his thumb on her shoulder to guide her along with him.

"Brilliant, yeah. That's really good," he says, giving her a small, reassuring smile. He brings his hand down to squeeze hers, keeping the same steady pattern going while he mutters into the phone.

Shelby blinks groggily a few times as the room begins to come into clearer focus. You would never have known that, just a moment ago, it was home to such a catastrophic storm. Everything looks exactly the same as it always does, except Jesse's sat up on the desk rather than in his chair. And he has her phone pressed up to his ear.

"I think she's calming down… Yeah… No I think it definitely was a panic attack… I don't know, she was just talking about Rachel's dads and then she got really spaced out… Yeah, of course." He extends the phone out to Shelby with a sheepish expression. "Uh… it's Luke, he wants to talk to you."

Still rather dazed, Shelby simply nods and accepts the phone, moving it to her own ear. Her hands are tingling painfully and her head is still spinning, but she manages to maintain a grip on it.

"Hello?"

"Shelbs? How are you feeling?" She blinks hard again, feeling a wave of tranquility wash over her at the sound of his voice. She wills that, and Jesse's tight hold on her hand to ground her back in the moment.

"I'm okay," she says quietly, her voice cracking a little. "I'm sorry… I- I don't know what happened."

She hears Luke sigh deeply. "You had a panic attack, Shelbs. Jesse said you were telling him about Rachel and then you weren't responding properly."

Her head droops as he speaks. This isn't supposed to be happening anymore, she thought she was over this. "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologise, baby," Luke tells her, as Jesse squeezes her hand again. "It's okay, we're just worried about you."

It's that word that makes her breath hitch in her throat again. 'Worried'. People have _always_ been worried about her. Well, almost always. It's wrong, though, she knows that. There's nothing wrong with her really; in the grand scheme of things, she has a good life, a great one even. The only things which could warrant any genuine cause for concern are the things she's done to herself. She's long since realised she just has to live with the consequences of her own decision making. People don't _need_ to worry about her, or they shouldn't anyway. She doesn't deserve it.

Like now, she realises with a fresh wave of guilt that she should _never_ have burdened Jesse with any of this. He's her _student_ and here she is presenting all of her biggest mistakes to him on a silver platter as if _he_ can do anything to rectify them. And to top it all off, she couldn't even get through the story without launching into yet another emotional breakdown, meaning that he, a fucking _sixteen-_year-old, has had to call her boyfriend to try and sort her out. A boyfriend who is thousands of miles away across an ocean, and who has already done so much for her.

"Shelby?" Luke's voice cuts through her whirring thoughts. "Your breathing's getting bad again, babe. Try to keep in nice and steady for me."

He begins to demonstrate down the phone, counting out the seconds for her inhalations and exhalations. She shuts her eyes tightly and listens to his instructions. The least she can do for everyone is to just try to calm down.

"Better, yeah," he says gently. "You're doing really well."

She waits until the lightheadedness begins to dissipate again before she peeks her eyes back open and sends Jesse a small smile. He's still perched up on the desk, looking on in rapt concern.

"Okay," she whispers, leaning back into the chair. Now she's beginning to calm, she can feel how tight all her muscles are. She's also aware of the trickles of sweat running across her skin under her clothes. The last ghosts of all the emotions that were drowning her before haunt her as unwanted patches of dampness. Don't they always?

But she knows she can wash them away under a hot shower and throw her clothes into the laundry. She's done it before, she can do it again.

"How are you doing, babe?"

"I'm okay," she says, her voice regaining some of its strength. "I'll just have some water and I'll be fine."

"Shelbs-"

"I'm fine!" she protests at the warning tone in his voice. "Honestly. I'm sorry for freaking everyone out." She makes eye contact with Jesse again, who sighs and grips her hand tighter. "I'm okay."

"It's good you're feeling better," Luke starts, "but-"

"No 'buts'," she says, sitting up and running her free hand through her tousled hair. "I'm feeling fine now, so Jesse can go back to rehearsal and then I just need to-"

"No." It's Luke's turn to interrupt. "Shelbs, I love you, and I love how much of a crazy workaholic you are, but you've just had a panic attack."

"Yes, I know that, thank you," she hisses sarcastically.

"So you can't seriously think you're going to get up and just go back into the auditorium?"

"Actually, that's exactly what I think!"

"Stop it!" Luke snaps before sighing frustratedly. "Just, please, Shelbs. Take five minutes to make sure you're nice and calm, and then you can go home and get some rest."

"I got a bit freaked out. Nothing _actually _bad happened!"

Another terse sigh. "Can I talk to Jesse please?"

"Why?"

"Just give the phone to Jesse!"

Shelby rolls her eyes and smacks the phone down into Jesse's palm grumpily. He flinches, but brings it up to his own ear; he could probably hear everything they were talking about anyway. The whole situation is just so _embarrassing_. She's been doing better! How can she ever hope to do anything to help Rachel if she can't even look after herself? She sits back sullenly and folds her arms across her chest, watching as Jesse talks cautiously into the phone.

"Yeah… No, of course… Sure…" He chuckles lightly which causes Shelby's scowl to deepen. "I promise, yeah… Okay… Will do… Bye." He smiles sweetly at her as he hands the phone back over. "It's for you."

She grimaces and takes it roughly. "What was that about?"

"Hi, baby," Luke says brightly, as if it's just the start of a normal call.

"Luke," she growls.

"Okay, here's the plan, and it's not up for debate. Jess is going to drive you back home-"

"What? No! I can dri-"

"Did I, or did I not say the words 'not up for debate'?"

"You did," she grumbles.

"Ah, so you _can _hear me. Perfect, listen up. Jesse is going to drive you home, where you will call me back, take a long, hot bath and then try to get a good night's sleep. Okay?"

She leans back, pouting. That all sounds welcoming, of course, but she can't just ignore all her responsibilities because she freaked out. The world doesn't work like that.

"But I'm still supposed to be here for VA. And what about Rachel? I need to talk to her!"

"Shelbs, rehearsal is going to be over in twenty minutes." She frowns and glances down at her watch. Had they really been in here for that long? "And do you honestly think that that's a good idea right now, talking to Rachel?"

_Most definitely not._

"Yes. I have to!"

"What you have to do is focus on taking care of yourself. Rachel's still going to be there tomorrow, and you can talk to her then, once you're in a better frame of mind. You're not going to achieve anything if you try to approach her while you're all worked up. It's okay and it's necessary to cut yourself some slack right now, babe. This whole week has been crazy and you need to make sure that you're okay in yourself."

She nods defeatedly. Even across an ocean, it's like he can peer right inside her head and see through the wreckage there. "Okay. Maybe you're right."

Luke gasps. "Sorry? Did you just say that _I _was _right_? Wow… That's definitely going in our holiday newsletter this year. Shelby Corcoran admitting that _I _was _right_."

Despite herself, she chuckles. "You'll never get me to admit it."

"Well, actually I have all of our phone calls recorded so I can bring out the evidence."

"Been waiting for this moment, have you?"

"Only since forever," he laughs. "So you're going to go with Jess?"

"I don't think I have much choice, do I?" she says wryly, eyeing Jesse who shakes his head smugly.

"No, you don't."

"Fine. I'll go with Jess. Then I'll call you and you can give me all my next instructions."

"Oooh submissive… I like it."

She snorts, shaking her head. "You're awful."

"Wrong. I'm the best, second only to you."

"Suck up."

"Correct." His tone turns mock-stern. "Now, go to Jesse's car, let him play you some show tunes or something, and stay calm. Capeesh?"

"Capeesh," she says, feeling a warm smile take over her lips. After everything that's happened since her and Jesse came into the office, it should feel unnatural, but somehow it's just not.

"Love you."

"Love you more."

She hangs up and cocks her head at Jesse. "You still got the _Wicked _soundtrack downloaded?" Jesse frowns at her in confusion but nods. "Perfect. I need to do some belting on the way home."

000

For the next two days, she can't help but avoid both Jesse and Rachel. The latter is relatively easy; she's been doing that pretty much continuously since Rachel first walked into her classroom. On Tuesday morning, she tells her homeroom class that she has a hectic week coming up and preemptively apologises for her scarce presence in their period. It's not a total lie, she does have to submit her budget requests for Sectionals, finalise costume choices for Invitationals and start planning a setlist for a school board dinner.

Usually, she would be able to manage all of that easily - it's just what she does - but she finds herself feeling bogged down by it all. Her brain, so full of swirling thoughts and fears, doesn't want to cooperate properly. It takes her several attempts and four pages of her sketchbook before she has a design for the girls' dresses to send to the team seamstress. Maybe it's the emotional weight pressing down heavily on her chest, or maybe it's the lingering valium cloud from Monday night, but she knows she's not herself.

She tries to keep up a brave face for Luke, hoping that the distance provided via a phone screen will lessen the clear presence of her emotional toil. She's not sure that he's buying it, though. His messages checking in on her mood, reminding her to eat, and generally providing a step-by-step guide on how to be a functional adult certainly suggest that he can see right through her façade. But still, she carries on. She can play the role of someone who isn't about to fall apart impeccably.

In fact, she does it so well that she's starting to believe it herself. Dakota Stanley continues to work with her kids on their Invitationals choreography with such an intensity that she's sure the whole event will be enough to strike fear into the hearts of any competing team within a hundred-mile radius. Her office has become a tainted sanctuary - all she can feel when she steps in there are the echoes of her conversation with Jesse - so instead, she takes to hauling her laptop and many notebooks up to the empty sound booth during rehearsals. From the shadows, she watches the routines come together and, reluctantly, she watches her daughter.

She's talented. She's _so _talented that Shelby can't pry her eyes away from her, no matter how much she may want to. Rachel commands the stage with an easy and unwavering passion that Shelby's only encountered a few times before. _She_ has it, or at least she used to have it. It's been too long now to tell for sure whether it's still there, but she can remember watching tapes of herself performing. Nothing could stop her. Jesse has it too, and while it stirs something unpleasant up for her, she can't deny that the two of them look extraordinary together onstage. For all his faults, Dakota has had enough sense to make them dance partners and they carry off the technical routine with stunning precision.

Even from way back in the sound booth, Shelby can see the emotion conveyed in Rachel's big brown eyes. And each time she does, it cuts away at her. Those are _Sean's_ big brown eyes. He had it too: the stage presence. It was one of the things that first drew her to him. That, and the fact that he had a car and parents who also didn't give two shits about what he was spending his free time doing. It's when she notices this quality in Rachel that her heart aches even more for the girl; it's something she can chalk up to herself and Sean. No matter how much of Hiram and Leroy she has in her, that's something biology gave her.

She wonders whether they notice it too, whether they like that about their daughter, or whether it makes them even more resentful towards her mother? That is, if they're even around to see it. Her mind has been tiring itself out running in circles trying to work out just what the hell has happened to them. She can't believe that… she won't let herself believe the worst. Hiram and Leroy Berry are not dead. To Shelby, it's just one of the fundamental facts of life, like the existence of gravity or that _Wicked_ was robbed for the Tony for best new musical. Hiram and Leroy are like Santa Clause, untouchable and sacred. Nothing bad can happen to them.

Well, except her. She's the blot on an otherwise perfect existence.

And she can't stop thinking about Linda Goldstein's name in her daughter's file. Why? Why is it there? Why is she involved in her daughter's life in any capacity? A woman who, from what Shelby saw, brought nothing but hate and intolerance into her son's life. It doesn't make any sense. A part of her doesn't want to question the infallibility of Hiram and Leroy; they must be aware of this, and so Shelby should just accept it. But she knows she can't do that, if not for her own confusion and anger at the situation, then for them. They always did _everything_ for her, so she surely owes it to them to make sure that their daughter is okay, right?

And if not for Hiram and Leroy, then for Rachel. Rachel who had stuttered and frowned when Shelby asked why she had transferred schools. Rachel who, according to Jesse, had seemed terrified to walk into her own home. Rachel who she loves more than anyone else on this earth.

On Wednesday evening, she's thinking about this as she watches her daughter dance. A pencil dangles loosely from her lips, hovering inches over the essay she's supposed to be grading, while she just stares through the glass window down onto the stage. Since Shelby had already assigned the vocal parts, Rachel acts as back-up for Giselle as she struts downstage. Still, she's the one Shelby can't take her eyes off. Sure, she's incredibly biased, but her kid is special, and she would seriously fight anyone who tells her otherwise.

A grin of undeserved pride tugs at her lips as she watches and, just for a second, it's like nothing else in the world matters. She's not sure how long she's just staring before her phone begins to vibrate in her blazer pocket.

She blinks herself back into reality as she pulls it out and smiles again when she sees it's Luke Facetiming her.

"Hi," she greets after hitting the accept button. Luke's face fills her screen and makes her stomach flutter, as always. She never thought she would be this person, someone who's so indescribably in love, but here she is. After everything, she had assumed she was too damaged to be in love again, that she would simply end up hurting anyone who got too close, but it was like Luke took a bulldozer to all her walls.

"Hey, princess," he says, grinning back at her. She can tell he's getting ready to go to bed; his shaggy, dark hair which is usually neatly combed is ruffled and his stubble needs a trim.

"I'm not a princess, I'm a queen," she says coyly.

Luke smirks. "My apologies, your majesty." He performs a little bow. "What's got you so smiley this evening?"

Her eyes flick back towards the stage before she leans back in her chair, chewing on the end of her pencil. "Can't a girl just be happy?"

"Sure you can. I just want to make sure you haven't got another man hiding out in that sound booth with you."

She looks around dramatically. "Oh- you _just_ missed him. He went to pick up some more champagne and strawberries."

Luke scowls at her. "You don't even like champagne that much. He's a shitty side-hoe if he doesn't know that."

"Any side-hoe would be shitty for me because they're not you."

"You have such a way with words, Shelbs," he laughs. "But really, why _are_ you so happy?"

She smiles at the way his brow furrows. "Look," she says, reaching up to the screen and flipping to the main camera. She looks through the display and zooms the camera in on Rachel, who is now dancing up next to Jesse.

She sees Luke's eyes widen. "Is that her?"

"Yeah," she sighs. "That's her."

"That's crazy… She looks exactly like you, Shelbs. She's literally you."

Shelby flips the camera back round and bites her lip. "I know… I mean… She does." She looks back down at the stage and feels the familiar ache in her chest.

"Hey- no," Luke says quickly. "Stop looking sad! You were so happy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"No, it's not you." She brings her thumb up to her mouth and bites at a hangnail. "Seeing her makes me so happy- _so happy_\- but it's also so painful, you know?"

Luke nods sadly. "I can imagine." He takes a deep breath. "But you know what, Shelbs?"

She finally drags her eyes away from Rachel and meets his again. "What?"

"I have a good feeling. I can just tell that this is all going to work out."

Smiling slightly at his unfaltering optimism, she raises her eyebrows. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You always hope for the best too much."

Luke grins. "And _you_ always expect the worst. We balance each other out."

"If this was a musical, we'd probably start singing now."

"Please don't," he chuckles. "I'm tired and my voice will be all croaky and then you'll shout at me for being off-key."

"I never shout at you for being-" She stops when he glares at her skeptically. "Okay, maybe I do sometimes. Sorry. Force of habit."

"'Habit?' Try, massive control freak."

Shelby glowers at him before cupping her ear. "Oh? What's that I hear? My sexy and dashing fancy man returning with the champagne?"

"Har har," Luke deadpans. "If I promise to never call you controlling again, will you send him away?"

"I'll think about it," she smirks. Luke laughs before trying, and failing, to mask a yawn. "You should go to sleep."

"But I'm talking to you," he whines.

"Yeah, and I'm supposed to be grading these papers." She holds up the notebook she's barely looked at. "I'll still be here in the morning, waiting for you to lecture me about breakfast."

"Only if you're not too full up from all the sex strawberries," he jokes. Quickly, he frowns. "Seriously, though, strawberries aren't a proper meal substitute. A meal needs-"

"Carbohydrates, protein and fats," Shelby recites with an eye roll. "I know. You tell me everyday."

"I'm an educator. There's a compulsive need within me to pass on information."

"And that, my love, is why you need to get to sleep. So that you can pass on all that fabulous information to _real students_ in the morning." Luke yawns again and she smiles smugly. "Thanks for proving my point."

"Anytime. I'm getting into New York on Friday afternoon and my flight to Columbus arrives on Saturday morning."

"Perfect. Can't wait to see you."

"Me too, babe." He lays down in his bed and sets his phone next to him so that Shelby's view of him becomes obscured by the white pillow. "Have fun pretending to grade papers while staring at Jesse dancing with Rachel."

"Have fun dreaming all about me and my champagne lover," she counters dryly.

"Will do. I love you."

"Love you more."

The call ends and Shelby locks her phone again, setting it back in her pocket. Without its light, the small room seems much darker and lonelier. While she means to take up her pencil and finally look through this paper, it's only a couple of minutes before her gaze falls back onto the stage. After a moment, she turns on the speaker system so that she can hear what's going on too, telling herself it's so she can get up to speed on how the number is progressing.

She sighs irritably when she hears several off-key harmonies within the first few bars. She literally fixed this last week, and now these incompetent kids seem to have forgotten everything she went over with them. Pulling her own notebook out of her purse, she resigns herself to scribbling down anything and everything she can find wrong with the routine so that she can whip them into shape tomorrow.

Five pages of scrawled notes later, she finally sets her pencil down when Dakota claps his hands to bring them to attention. Shelby switches the speaker off again; she doesn't particularly care about what he has to say at this point. While she can be harsh herself, she knows that he takes it to the next level in his all too personal and cutting critiques. If he didn't get such good results, she'd have him out of here in a heartbeat. She's packing her stuff back into her bag, muttering fervently about how much better they would sound if they all just remembered to project from the diaphragm, when a movement onstage catches her attention.

She looks back up and narrows her eyes when she sees Rachel hanging her head and wrapping her arms around herself. Dakota is standing a few feet in front on her, gesticulating wildly.

_Don't you dare, you little shit. _

She leans forwards towards the glass, watching in horror. She can't be sure from here, but she's sure she sees Rachel reach up and wipe at her face. He's made her kid cry. _He is dead._ Frozen for a moment, her whole body lurches forward instinctively when she sees Jesse engulf Rachel in a tight hug. Dakota has moved on to berate someone else. Who? Shelby wouldn't be able to say. All of her attention is focussed on the way Jesse is stroking Rachel's hair and whispering into her ear.

The same thought erupts through her mind again: _Don't you dare, you little shit._

She doesn't even realise she's banged on the glass until Jesse lifts his head to stare at her. He matches her expression, scowling up at her, before he looks away and continues to comfort Rachel.

The things she would like to do to that boy. Yes, part of her is extremely grateful that he's being so nice to her- clearly she needs someone right now. But she _knows _Jesse. She can read him like a book and she's sure that this has something to do with the way she's been avoiding him.

After he drove her home the other night, she's made a point of keeping well away from him. She's ignored his calls, his texts, and even did a little jog down the hallway yesterday to escape him. It's not his fault, but she can't help the sickening feeling of shame she gets whenever she thinks about what she shared with him. He'd said they were friends, that she could trust him. It's not that those statements are false _per se_, she's just acutely aware of the fact that he's a kid. A good kid, but a kid all the same.

When she was his age, her childhood had already been so thoroughly and irrevocably destroyed that there was never any hope of salvation. Jesse, though, he's different. Yes, he has wounds- wounds that will probably scar, but there's still the last glimmer of hope waiting to get out of Pandora's Box. They're so similar, and yet so different. It's why she feels so connected to him; maybe if she can help him, protect him, she can do some healing of her own.

_That's_ what she's supposed to be doing. Not tying the anchor around both of them so they drown together.

And so she's been avoiding him, fruitlessly hoping that maybe he'll just forget the events of Monday evening and they can go back to _her_ taking care of _him_. She knows that's not going to happen, though; the increasingly passive aggressive messages blowing up her phone should have told her that much. But she'd ignored that. And now he's taking his revenge, twisting the knife in the wound, by doing the one thing she simply _can't_ do right now- comforting Rachel. And he's sending her storybook villain glares while doing so.

Hands shaking with unbridled rage, she grabs her phone back out of her pocket and bashes out a message to him.

_Meet me in room 142. Now._

She folds her arms over her chest and watches him coldly. He and Rachel have made their way out to the auditorium seats where their bags are sitting. Jesse reaches into his and withdraws his phone. His brow furrows as he stares at the screen for a moment before looking back up towards the sound booth. Shelby meets his furious gaze and smirks, lifting her hand and giving him a cheery wave.

000

Shelby sits on the desk in her homeroom, swinging her legs back and forth, as she deliberates on various methods to kill teenaged boys. When she hears the sound of Jesse's stomping boots spilling in from the hallway, she pushes herself up.

"Ah, Mr St. James, _so _pleased you could join me," she drawls as he enters. "I wa-" She stops suddenly as she realises that he isn't alone. "Rachel? What are you doing here?"

Rachel, who has trailed in after Jesse, looks just as uncomfortable as Shelby feels. "I- I'm sorry. I know you asked to talk to Jesse but…"

"I'm her ride home," Jesse finishes. He lowers himself down onto one of the desks and eyes Shelby smugly. "Is it a problem that she's here?"

Shelby's fists clench as she glares back at him. "No," she lies, her voice strained and clipped. "Not a problem at all."

They stare at each other for a moment, both silently wishing great pain upon the other before Shelby remembers, once again, that _she_ is the adult in the situation. She turns and allows herself to look properly at Rachel. There are tear tracks on her flushed cheeks which send Shelby off into another mental plan of murder- this time plotting the demise of Dakota Stanley. But it's when she _really _looks at her that she feels something is off. For a moment, she can't work out what it is. Then, with a force that knocks the wind right out of her, her brain makes the connection.

Over the VA sweats delivered to her via Sophie yesterday, Rachel has thrown on a faded black sweatshirt. The vinyl design had already been chipping away the last time Shelby saw it, and it's gone even more-so now. But when she looks closely she can make out the outline of the NYU logo. That's _her_ sweatshirt.

Well, it used to be. The last time she'd properly seen it was when she was hastily throwing clothes into a bag to take with her on a flight to Ohio. She always took that one back with her since the black didn't show stains if Rachel happened to spit up on her or if they played outside together. She never got a chance to wear it the last time she'd packed it. It had been left, alongside a bunch of other clothes and some toiletries, in a bag at the end of her bed in the Berrys' spare room while she fled into the winter night.

And now Rachel's wearing it. Does she know? She _can't _know- surely she would have said something, _done_ something? But, then again, how can Shelby think like that when _she_ hasn't done anything herself? Hiram and Leroy kept her stuff. _Hiram and Leroy kept her stuff_. Were they waiting for her to come back for it? Or was it simply a keepsake, a reminder of someone who had once been in their lives? She still has some of their things. A tape, cards, little gifts. They're in a box in her bedroom closet. But she has a good reason- those things are all she has to hold on to of the days in her life where she felt the most protected and secure.

Hiram and Leroy kept her stuff.

"Shelby, you okay?" Jesse asks. Her head flicks towards him. He's not smug anymore, instead that horrible look of _worry_ is back. She needs to remember why she's here.

"I'm fine," she says shakily.

She stands up straighter and shoots Jesse another glare. Her heart's not in it, but hopefully that won't translate. If he thinks she's angry at him, if he can come to think of her as just a miserable bitch, maybe he won't worry about her and then she won't have to feel bad.

Facing Rachel again, she smiles softly. "Are you okay? I noticed Mr Stanley was giving you a hard time."

Rachel forces on her own smile, which Shelby can just about see through. How and why is her kid so good at faking a smile?

"I'm okay," she asserts, mirroring her mother in the way she straightens her posture. "He just… He told me that I need to eat 'smelt', and he didn't appreciate it when _I _told _him _that that doesn't align with the vegan diet I'm transitioning into."

Shelby could almost laugh. Of course _her_ kid would choose to go vegan- she can virtually hear Hiram and Leroy complaining about it. But that's not the case, and she has no one to blame for that other than herself.

"And?" Jesse prompts knowingly. He raises his eyebrows at Rachel who glares back at him with a small shake of her head.

Shelby frowns. "What?"

"It's nothing," Rachel says quickly.

"It's _not _nothing," Jesse says. "You can tell _her_."

If it weren't for his cold tone, Shelby would have been glad for this encouragement.

"What is it?" she asks cautiously. Her eyes flick back and forth between the two teenagers who are now engaged in their own silent stand-off.

"Nothing!"

Jesse sighs exaggeratedly and turns towards Shelby. "Dakota, the man _you_ hired to work with your team, told Rachel that-"

"Jesse!"

"He told her that she needs a nose job."

"_What?_"

_He. Is. Dead. _

She's going to make him regret the very day his sorry existence on this earth began. A nose job? A fucking _nose job_? She is fourteen! She is fourteen and the most beautiful, precious thing Shelby has ever laid eyes on. She takes a couple of deep breaths while Jesse and Rachel begin to bicker.

"I asked you not to say anything!"

"He can't talk to you like that! I wasn't just going to sit by and do absolutely _nothing,_" Jesse argues back, sending a pointed look in Shelby's direction for the last words.

Another deep breath. She can't _actually _murder anyone today. Luke's in London and Cassie's probably drunk somewhere- there would be no one to bail her out.

"It wasn't your thing to tell!"

"Like hell it wasn't!"

"Enough!" Shelby snaps, bringing their attention back onto her. "Jesse, thank you for informing me of the situation. It's totally inappropriate and I will make sure that Mr Stanley is reprimanded accordingly." She doesn't miss Jesse's scoff, but chooses to ignore it. "Rachel, are you okay?"

Rachel's eyes are fixed on the ceiling, a technique Shelby also uses when she doesn't want to cry. With a sniff, she lowers them again. "I'm fine. Yes, it hurt my feelings, but I'm fine."

Shelby bites her lip and walks hesitantly towards her daughter. She squats a little and lays a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Listen to me. You are an extraordinarily talented girl, Rachel. _So_ talented- more than most of the other people on that team. And that's really saying something considering you haven't been under my tutelage for long, hey?" Rachel smiles softly. "And, alongside that, you're a very pretty girl." _You're the prettiest girl in the world. You're my daughter, I'm your mom. I love you_. "I- I think Mr Stanley's probably just jealous of your talent. You do _not_ need a nose job. Not now, not ever."

"Kids at school used to make fun of me," Rachel admits shyly, ducking her head.

Shelby sighs. Yet more people to add to her hit list. Goody.

"Ignore them. Ignore everyone who's not on your side." Rachel nods, but still doesn't look up. "People used to make fun of the way I look too. Do you think _I _need a nose job?"

Rachel shakes her head fervently. "No, of course not."

"Exactly," Shelby smiles. "And who else did they used to say that about?"

"Barbra?"

_Atta girl. _"Yep. And did she?"

"No," Rachel replies, finally smiling again. "I told Mr Stanley that, about Barbra. He… um… he didn't take that too well, either."

"I bet he didn't." Shelby squeezes her shoulder fondly. It's probably too much, but she can't stop herself. "I'm going to deal with him, I promise."

"Thank you, Miss Corcoran."

And there it is, the title that picks her up and dumps her right back in her place.

"Anytime."

"You know, it's kind of funny," Jesse says airily.

Shelby presses her lips together and spins round to face him. "What is?"

"That _you_ get to have this conversation with Rachel."

"And why's that?" She sends him a daring look. Unfortunately it only seems to egg him on.

He takes a second to flick his gaze back and forth between their faces. "Well, you guys _do_ look pretty similar."

_Do _not_ kill the teenager. You _will _go to prison. You _don't _look good in orange. Do _not _kill the teenager. _

Rachel hums in acknowledgement. "Yeah, I guess we do." She smiles at her teacher. "You're Jewish, right?"

"Right." Shelby's throat is completely dry.

"Jews have good genes," she tells Jesse with a smile.

He smirks. "Yeah, good genes." He pauses for a moment, again, looking between the two women thoughtfully. This time, it looks genuine. "Rach?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you mind going to grab me a cherry cola? I'm absolutely parched, and I just need to ask Shelby about something real quick." He flashes her an award-winning smile. "And then I promise we can be on our way and I'll drop you home."

Rachel nods happily. "Sure." She takes the dollar bill Jesse has just pulled out his pocket and leaves the room with a spring in her step that definitely wasn't there when she came in.

Jesse and Shelby wait until her footsteps die away before they turn to each other, both poised for the attack.

"You little _asshole_."

"You're welcome."

Each recoils at the other's words.

It's Shelby who breaks the silence first, slamming her hand down onto the first desk she can reach. "'You're _welcome_'?" she repeats mockingly. "You're kidding, right?"

He folds his arms defensively. "No! I'm not. That was some _great_ mother-daughter bonding. Shame you're too much of a coward to actually come out and tell Rachel that's what it was."

It's the same way she's spoken to herself for years, so why does it hurt so much more coming from him?

"_Too much of a_…." Her face crumples in on itself as she leans down over the desk. "I trusted you, Jess. I really, really _trusted_ you with my biggest secret, and _this_ is how you're going to treat me?"

"How _I'm _going to treat _you_?" he repeats. Shelby's surprised, when she looks up, to see that she's not the only one with tears brewing in her eyes. "Shelby… It's… I- It's _you_."

"What?"

"It's you," he says, voice thick with emotion. "You are the _only_ adult in my life who gets me, who I can trust. You're the only one who sees me for who I am and hasn't hated me for it. And, yeah, you did trust me. However you want to read into it, it's true. You. Trusted. Me. And I _tried_. You have to believe me, Shelby, I tried to help you… Maybe I shouldn't have called Luke, I- I don't know. I'm sorry if that wasn't the right thing to do, but I couldn't think of anything else. I've never seen you like that, I've never seen _anyone_ like that. But then you seemed okay… L-Like you didn't hate me… We were singing _Wicked_…" He looks down angrily, causing a single tear to roll down his cheek and plop onto the desk. "We were singing _Wicked_ and then you wouldn't talk to me… I texted and I called and…"

More tears begin to spill down his face and Shelby's heart snaps in two. Yet again, she's hurt someone she cares about. What the hell is wrong with her?

"Oh, Jess," she whispers, quickly crossing to him and pulling him into a tight hug. He resists at first, pushing against her, but she holds him close until he's sobbing into her blouse. "I am _so_ sorry, Jesse."

She says it again and again until he finally pulls away and stares up at her, his face contorted in distress.

"Why?" he chokes out. "What did I do?"

She takes him by the shoulders and looks deep into his eyes. "It's not you, Jess. It's me."

"Now that's just a cliché," he chuckles through tears.

Shelby pulls him into her again and shuts her eyes tightly. How in the world did she get so lucky to get such a special kid in her life? And, more importantly, how has she ended up hurting him so much?

She's never seen him cry like this, not even when his parents practically kicked him out of their house for three weeks last year. He'd been unusually distant with her for the first week while he bounced from friend's house to friend's house, never staying long enough to attract too much attention. It wasn't until he turned up on her doorstep, drenched to the bone, that she'd gotten some answers. His car had run out of gas and his parents had cut off his bank account.

She'd taken him in without a second thought and allowed him to stay in her guest room for the next two weeks. Once they reached that point, she'd finally driven over to the St. James house and told his parents that they either had to get their act together, or she would be going to CPS and filing for custody. They had seemed rather shocked that someone, a stranger to them, would do that for their son and had accepted him back in a way that appeared more to be protective of their dignity than of their child. Shelby let him go with the promise that he would _always_ have a place in her home if he needed it.

In a lot of ways, she was just doing for him what Hiram and Leroy had done for her — she wanted to pass on the good deed. What she _doesn't_ want, is what she seems to have accomplished now: passing on some kind of twisted emotional trauma.

"I'm so sorry, Jess."

He reaches up to wipe his eyes. "It's okay. I'm kind of overreacting- people say I do that."

"Yeah?" she smiles, walking back towards her bag. "People say I do it too."

She reaches inside and pulls out a pack of Kleenex. Tossing it towards him, she takes a seat on the desk opposite and studies him carefully for a moment.

"You didn't do anything wrong. In fact, you did everything right."

"I did?" he asks. She experiences the same feeling she gets when she looks at Rachel, like she can see the child peeking out beneath the surface of the teenager.

"Yes." She runs her hands through her hair, watching as Jesse tries to clean himself up and regain his composure. "What I did was inappropriate. You and me, Jess, we have a special relationship." He sends her a smile which melts her heart. "But you're still the kid and I'm the adult. I shouldn't have dumped all of my problems on you like that- it's totally not fair to you, or to Rachel. And then I freaked out because I didn't want you to think you had to try to help me. It's _so_ not okay for me to put that burden onto you."

Jesse shakes his head uncertainly. "Can I say something?"

There it is- the childlike innocence. She smiles. "Sure."

"You're not a burden, Shelby," he says firmly. Her mouth goes dry. "You're not. A-and I know you don't want to feel like you're _making_ me help you, or whatever, but you're really not. You'll play the 'I'm a teacher and you're a student card', but I'm calling bullshit on that one. Teachers don't lay on the couch with their students in pyjamas having musical marathons, or teach them about contraception, or give them gas money when their asshole parents cut them off. You know who does that? Friends. I meant what I said on Monday, we're friends. But we're also not- you're right. 'Cause I don't know about you, but I feel like we're family.

"What you said, like about how Rachel's dads took you in, that really got me. That's how I view you. Not, like, as a parent I don't think… You're too young and cool for that." His eyes widen. "Wait- I don't mean… You don't need to start calling yourself a teenage slut again, or whatever. But, yeah, we're kind of family, and that means I _want _to help you, do you get that?"

He looks up at her shyly before he notices the tears spilling down her cheeks. With a shake of her head, she hugs him again.

"I love you, Jess. You are _such _a special kid."

"I love you too." He pulls back and looks into her eyes. "Just please don't shut me out again."

She pulls the sleeve of her blouse down over her hand and uses it to wipe at her face, collecting herself.

"I won't shut you out," she says carefully, "but-"

"Why is there _always _a 'but'?"

"_But_, this is something serious."

"I _know_ that!" Jesse whines. "I get that, I do. B-but I think I kind of like Rachel, I don't want her to get hurt either."

Shelby frowns at the blush forming on his cheeks. He _likes_ her? She's never heard Jesse openly admitting to actually _liking_ someone before. Does it have to be Rachel? Once this is all over, once there's some kind of resolution among all the crazy, she _has_ to pitch this whole thing as a new soap opera. She's going to make millions.

"Not like that!" he protests quickly, reading her face. "She has a boyfriend, remember?"

Shelby grimaces. "Don't remind me." Another thing to sort out once she's, you know, sorted all this out.

"You and me, we're _like_ family. But Rachel _is_ your family."

"Sort of," she corrects quickly, ignoring the pain that comes with the words. "She was adopted. Hiram and Leroy are her family."

"You're her family too! I don't get why you can't just go up to her and say, 'Hi, I'm Shelby. I'm your mom.'"

"I don't want to mess up her life." _Again_.

"Is that it? Or are you just scared of what will happen when the truth comes out?"

"I…" She narrows her eyes at him. "When did you get so smart?"

He waves her off. "Luke gave me this reading list- I'm learning a lot."

"And yet you never go to class…"

An exasperated scowl only a teenaged boy can pull off crosses his face. "Shut up and listen to me. I have an idea."

000

"What do you mean _you're _going to take me home?" Rachel asks, looking incredulously up at her teacher.

Her walk around the school had been a colossal waste of time. Not a single vending machine here stocks cherry cola and she would know- she checked every last one. When she returned to the classroom, ready to apologise, Jesse had told her not to worry about it and that he would just drink some water instead. Part of her wants to be annoyed, she's already exhausted from the strenuous dance rehearsal that horrible little man put them through, but she can feel some kind of tension between Miss Corcoran and Jesse. There's probably something they had to discuss without her being there.

She can deal with that. She's used to hushed conversations going on behind closed doors. Even her dads they… She _knows_ there's a lot she's never been told.

What she's not quite sure she can deal with, however, is Miss Corcoran informing her that _she _will be the one driving her home so that she can 'discuss her placement on the team'. School and home don't mix. They should never, ever mix. Bad things happen when they mix.

"We've been discussing the set-list for an upcoming school event," Miss Corcoran begins, "and I would love for you and Jesse to take the leads in it."

Rachel can't help the wide smile which spreads onto her face. "Me? Are you sure?"

"Absolutely positive," Miss Corcoran says warmly. "Right, Jess?"

"Right, Miss C," he confirms. He bumps against Rachel's shoulder and grins at her. "We're going to smash it, Rach."

For a moment, she allows herself to bask in the elation this brings. She's getting exactly what she wanted, isn't she? A brilliant team, with a talented coach who can help guide her on the path to Broadway stardom. She has Jesse, who just _gets_ her. She knows she's with Noah, and this friendship doesn't change that, but having someone who, for the first time in a long time, _understands_ her feels so good. And for whatever reason, she seems to have been welcomed into Miss Corcoran and Jesse's exclusive little club. She's not exactly sure why, but she's not about to question it. It's got her the _lead_ in a set-list!

"But that's probably going to require some extra rehearsal," Miss Corcoran continues, "which is why I just want to speak to your grandmother about it."

Rachel's heart hammers in her chest. "How do you know that?"

"Know what?"

Rachel licks her upper lip. She forces herself not to look at Jesse- she wishes he wasn't here. She wishes _she_ wasn't here. _Nobody is meant to know_.

"How do you know I live with my grandma?" she asks quietly, head lowered towards the ground.

Because of this, she misses the 'Oh Shit' look which passes between Jesse and Shelby.

"I… uh… I read your records. I'm your homeroom teacher," Miss Corcoran explains gently. Rachel feels her hand on her shoulder before she sees the woman leaning down towards her. The touch makes her jump. "Sorry. I- Rachel, are you okay?"

_School and home don't mix_.

"I'm fine," she says, pulling out all the stops on her show-face. She straightens up, effectively causing Miss Corcoran's hand to fall limply at her side. "It's just I live a little way out of town- Jesse can attest to that. Do you think we should reschedule this visit?"

She does her best not to sound too imploring. _Persuasive, _that's what she'd like to be right now. The flicker of concern that passes over Miss Corcoran's features shows her she's not succeeding at that.

"I think now will be okay," she says, in that same, soft tone. It's not the voice she uses in homeroom or during rehearsal. In fact, Rachel is sure she's only ever heard the woman take that tone with _her_. Does she just scream 'I'm too pathetic to talk to properly'?

"Rach?" Jesse prompts, nudging her arm.

"Hm? Sorry, what?"

"I just asked whether that was going to be a problem?" Miss Corcoran says slowly. _Great, now she thinks you're stupid too._

A painfully broad smile barges onto her face. "Not a problem at all. Maybe we can discuss your ideas for the setlist in the car?"

They don't. The journey is quiet. Torturously so, in fact.

Rachel stares out the window of Miss Corcoran's Range Rover, willing the streets to pass by more quickly so that she can escape the car. Yet, equally, she wouldn't complain if Miss Corcoran were to put it into reverse and drive a hundred miles an hour in the opposite direction. She leans up against the window with her backpack clutched on her lap, running the zip up and down in time with the wiper blades. She's done it seventy-nine times so far.

She's getting to grips with the route back to her grandmother's house now- they're only about halfway there. Miss Corcoran didn't have to turn the wipers on until they were about a quarter of the way there, which means that the ratio works out to be around eighty blades per quarter of the journey meaning that-

"Are you okay?" Miss Corcoran's voice throws her off her mental calculation. She pulls the zipper up too far as she jumps a little in shock, sending it straight into the fleshy part of her hand where thumb meets palm.

She hisses in pain and lifts her hand to her mouth to suck away the blood blooming from her skin.

"Oh god- _sorry_," Miss Corcoran says. They pull to a halt at a stoplight and she turns to face Rachel. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," Rachel says quickly. It's her go-to response, sure, but she really _is_ fine. It's just a little cut. Even if she weren't, she thinks of her dads' words: _Fake it till you make it, Star. _"Honestly," she adds, hoping to alleviate some of the concern painted all over Miss Corcoran's features.

"If you're sure," the woman replies uncertainly. Glancing up at the still-red light, she quickly reaches into the side-pocket of her door and retrieves a packet of Kleenex. She hands them over to Rachel with a small smile. "Blood doesn't taste good."

"No," Rachel agrees, "it doesn't." She takes a tissue out and presses it against the cut. It will close up soon, it's not too deep. "Do you… uh… do you carry these everywhere you go?"

Miss Corcoran puts the car back into drive and looks over in confusion. "What?"

"The Kleenex," Rachel clarifies. "There was a packet out in the classroom too."

"Oh." The woman cocks her head. "Yeah, I guess I do."

There's silence again, except for the sound of the wiper blades and the light rain pattering down onto the metal roof. It's not so soothing now Rachel isn't matching it against her zipper.

"I've been crying a lot recently."

It's Rachel's turn to look over, totally perplexed. "What?"

"The Kleenex… I- Sorry, I don't know why I said that." The woman shakes her head and sighs. Rachel hopes she doesn't also look that overwhelmed, even if she may feel it. "I want you to know that you can talk to me, Rach. I like to be there… for my team members, you know."

"Oh- okay," Rachel stutters. She looks back out the window again, they're well over halfway there now. She would be at what- around one hundred and twenty zipper movements? "Thank you for what you said earlier."

"When?"

"About the…" She feels the blush rising on her cheeks again and is incredibly grateful for the dim lighting. "The nose job."

"That's okay. No one deserves to feel like they're not good enough."

"Right."

Another stoplight, another turn from her teacher towards her. "But hey- you did a good job in standing up for yourself, honey. I don't think Mr Stanley is very used to that."

Rachel smiles. "No, he didn't seem to be. I was the only one who did."

"Yeah? Well maybe the rest of those kids can learn something from you," Miss Corcoran jokes.

A small wave of satisfaction rushes through Rachel. She _did_ do something that nobody else did- and something good. Maybe her dads would be proud of her if they could see her now.

"My dads would be…"

_Shoot_! Was she saying that out loud? She quickly clamps her mouth shut and returns her attention to the wound on her hand.

"What was that, Rach?"

"Nothing," she mutters hastily.

"Can I… Can I ask about your dads? I… Jesse told me you were adopted?"

Rachel can feel her breathing pick up. Or, she can't- but she knows it is from the way her hand, resting on her stomach, begins to move quickly back and forth.

"I- Yes. I was adopted."

"But now you live with your grandmother?" Miss Corcoran asks carefully.

"Yes," Rachel replies, watching her hand move faster and faster. Her fingers begin to tingle, so she stretches them out. And back in. And back out.

"Sorry- I didn't mean to…"

Rachel pulls her gaze away from her hand and up into the eyes of her teacher who is watching her with an alarmed expression. _Pull it together_.

"It's fine," she says quickly, tucking her hand under her legs so she won't look at it anymore. "I just don't like talking about it and I'm kind of tired from rehearsal."

"Okay," Miss Corcoran relents, fixing her eyes back on the road.

It's silent for a little while longer, before she feels the woman's eyes on her again. Rachel frowns- what is she doing wrong _this time? _

"Sorry," Miss Corcoran says again. "I was just admiring your sweatshirt."

"Oh." Rachel gazes down at the black fabric. She'd needed its comfort when she put it in her bag this morning, but she didn't realise it would induce yet another awkward conversation. What is she supposed to say? '_Thanks, it's really all I have from a woman who wanted nothing to do with me'. _That's a sure fire way to make her teacher realise she's even crazier than she already seems.

_It's a sweatshirt_, she reminds herself, _you don't have to explain it_.

"Thanks."

000

It doesn't escape Shelby's knowledge that she could potentially not have fucked that up more if she'd tried. _A half-hour car ride? What could possibly go wrong in a half-hour car ride?_ Lots, apparently. Scare your kid into injuring herself? Check. Give her an anxiety attack? Check. Make her think you're a sweatshirt loving, constantly crying weirdo? Check. _Absolutely brilliant, Shelby, well done!_

This whole evening has been nothing but a massive headache. Shelby can feel it pulsing in her temples.

When Rachel finally directs her to pull up outside a small house on the outskirts of Lima, she isn't sure who seems more relieved to be clambering out the car doors. She _knew_ this was a terrible idea. Even when her and Jesse were discussing it, she knew that it would be weird for her and Rachel to be in a car together when they are both so clearly nervous about what's awaiting them at the end of their journey. She should always follow her gut. Except maybe when it tells her to run away to NYC in the middle of the night.

She follows Rachel up the tarmac driveway and almost crashes into her as the girl stops abruptly at the top of the porch steps.

Rachel turns to her, face contorted in worry. "Should we knock? We should probably knock, right?" she mutters. It does appear like she's talking to herself, but she's also sending Shelby those panicked brown eyes.

"Uh?" How is _she_ supposed to know? "Sure," she decides eventually. "Let's knock."

She lets Rachel do the honours, standing back and bracing herself. The door swings open to reveal Linda, or, as Shelby has always thought of her, Hiram's horrible mother. Her face is a little more lined than when Shelby saw it last and her thick, dark hair is shorter, but she's still got that same displeased aura about her. Lovely.

She looks slightly surprised to see it's Rachel knocking on her own front door, but that pales in comparison to the expression she makes when she finally looks up into Shelby's eyes. She's recognised her immediately.

"Hi," Shelby says quickly, snapping into action and extending her hand towards the woman. "I'm Shelby Corcoran, coach of the show choir at Rachel's school." Linda's eyes narrow while Shelby works to maintain the strained brightness in her voice. "I was hoping we'd be able to talk."

Linda doesn't move from the door's threshold. Barely acknowledging Rachel, she keeps her gaze firmly on Shelby's face. "And is it customary for you to make unannounced house calls?"

"Grandma!" Rachel hisses. Shelby can practically feel the heat radiating off her daughter's face.

She plasters on a tight smile. "Well, I do apologise for the _unusual_ circumstances. But I would really like to have a discussion with you about Rachel's position… On the team, of course."

"Of course," Linda repeats icily. Hesitating for just a moment longer, she finally steps back and allows the them to walk into the house.

Shelby can still feel her eyes boring into her, searching her for answers. She chooses, instead, to focus on taking this opportunity to look around her daughter's 'home'. It's nice enough, she supposes, if a little stuffy. They follow Linda through the small entrance hallway into the living room. The cream coloured walls and brown leather couches _should_ seem homey- but Shelby feels an overwhelming sense of forced levity. The nautically themed paintings clash against the otherwise warm colour palette, and the yellow-toned lighting is doing nothing for her pounding headache. Maybe she's overthinking it, projecting her own emotions onto the space around her. It wouldn't be the first time.

"I really like being on the team, Grandma," Rachel says quietly, taking a seat on one of the couches. She peers up at the woman hopefully, who finally seems to remember that she's in the room too.

"What? Oh, that's nice."

"It is yeah," Rachel says brightly, spurred on by the tiny amount of interest being thrown her way. "Miss Corcoran is an excellent coach! We're preparing for Invitationals and she says she wants Jesse and I to take the leads for another event!"

"Jesse's the boy who's been driving you home?" Linda asks sharply. Shelby and Rachel both frown at the fact that _that's_ what she's picked up on from her granddaughter's speech.

"He is, yeah," Rachel mumbles.

Linda purses her lips and sits down across from Rachel, leaving Shelby standing awkwardly off to the side.

"You know I don't particularly like that," she says coldly.

Rachel bites her lip. "But he's really nice- we have a lot in-"

"Boys always seem 'really nice', Rachel," Linda interrupts. She throws a disparaging glance Shelby's way. "I'm sure Miss Corcoran can confirm that."

_Push down the urge to murder, Shelby. You've done it already tonight- you can do it again_.

"If I may," she says sweetly, walking forwards and sitting down next to Rachel, "Jesse is a good kid. He's very responsible and he and Rachel are becoming good friends. Right, Rach?"

Rachel swallows hard, eyes darting between her teacher and grandmother. "Yes," she squeaks out.

Shelby can't help but feel a little smug at how uncomfortable Linda looks now. It gives her an edge. Of course, she hates the fact that Rachel looks like she's about to pass out, but she knows she's about to get to the bottom of all this.

"It's amazing really," she continues, "Rachel's a great asset to the team. I'm particularly lucky to have found her since she's joined at this point in the semester."

If looks could kill, Shelby wouldn't, in fact, be the one committing a murder tonight. Linda is glaring at her like she's just stepped on an orphan's puppy and told them Santa isn't real. Actually no, Shelby thinks. Linda seems like the type of woman who would probably approve of that behaviour.

"Very lucky," Linda repeats tersely. She stares at Shelby for a moment longer, before turning to Rachel. "You should go upstairs and get on with your homework."

The girl frowns. "But-"

"Now, Rachel."

Shelby's heart bleeds as her daughter's shoulders sag. The girl gets up slowly and walks back towards the hallway.

"Bye, Miss C. Thanks for the ride home," she says, shooting Shelby yet another fake smile. They're getting easier to recognise, but it's alarming just how frequently she seems to be using them.

_That's okay. You know why? Because you're my daughter and I'm your mom and I love you_.

"It was my pleasure." She lifts a hand to wave the girl off, wishing that she could just run and give her a hug instead. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

Both women sit in frosty silence until the door to Rachel's room slams shut behind her. It's uncanny how similar the situation is to earlier with Jesse. Shelby just hopes that soon she won't have to shut her daughter out at all.

"Where are Hiram and Leroy?"

"What the _hell _are you doing in my home?"

Neither moves to answer the other- they just sit there, stewing in the weight of what it all means.

"I can call the cops and have you escorted out of here at any time," Linda says smartly. "So if I were you, I would explain just what you think you're doing here, _Shelby_."

"Oh, _grow up_," she hisses, quite enjoying the way Linda's nostrils flare outwards. "That is _my _daughter you've just sent upstairs so I think it's pretty damn obvious _why_ I'm here. She's _mine_. Mine, Hiram's and Leroy's. So where are they?"

Linda stares at her coldly again. "They're dead, Shelby. Hiram and Leroy are dead."

000

The second Rachel enters her room, she throws herself down onto her bed and takes some deep, shuddering breaths. That much is routine. It's her coming-off-stage ritual too - or at least it used to be. An acting teacher once taught her that- before you go on, you take your first breaths as your character, and when you come off, you take some to return to yourself again.

In her bedroom, when she comes offstage and can finally hang up the show-face on her costume rail, her first few breaths are always like this: haggard and painful. It's routine.

She swipes angrily at the few tears which leak out from her eyes despite her best efforts to reel them back in. None of this is fair. Why is it _her_? What could she possibly have done to deserve any of this? Why has she been faking it and faking it, yet she's still not any closer to making it?

When she was little, her dads used to tell her how lucky she was because she was so loved. She had them and she always_, always_ knew that they would do absolutely anything for her. She wanted dance classes? She got them. She wanted to try figure skating? Her dad got her skates the next day. The two months when she decided she didn't want to sing anymore after a terrible third-grade concert? They didn't make her sing once. She didn't even have to join in when Barbra came on the radio- and they _always _sang along to Barbra.

But it wasn't just them. She can't remember the first time they told her that she was adopted, she's just known it forever. And, with that, came the knowledge that she had two other parents who loved her very much. Especially her mommy.

Rachel lied to Jesse last week in the car. She _did_ have a mom. Once upon a time, she had a mommy. She knows she used to because she found first and second birthday cards from her hidden away in a box. She was six when she asked her dads about it, and she can still remember the panicked look they'd exchanged. They showed her some of the things in the boxes- some toys, a few photographs, the rest of the cards- and told her that even though her mommy loved her very much, she went away.

Rachel didn't much like that answer and she used to search for her mommy everywhere. Cases of mistaken identity were prevalent: they happened at the grocery store, the movies, and once she even thought she saw her mommy in a Broadway magazine. But she never found her.

As she grew up, she began to notice how much it hurt her dads, the pain she was causing them each time she asked about her mother or tried to point out who it might be. So she stopped. By the time she was eight, she told her dads that she didn't care. If her mommy didn't want her, then she didn't want her mommy. She didn't _need_ a mommy either; she had the best dads in the world, after all. She cast aside her deerstalker hat and magnifying glass and, just like that, Rachel Berry didn't have a mommy.

Her dads still brought her up sometimes, neglecting their own pain, and still tried to get her to look at the pictures. But she wouldn't. She took a few things from the box in the attic: the big black sweatshirt that used to smell like perfume, her first birthday card and the toy penguin that was apparently a gift.

_Here's a penguin. Sorry I don't want to be in your life anymore. _

They told her that if she ever wanted to know more, she just had to ask. Again and again, she refused every offer. As a preteen, her answer had simply been that she had a sweatshirt and a penguin. Who needs a mother when you have a sweatshirt and a penguin?

She used to imagine that one day there would be a confrontation. She would sit down with her mother and demand to know she wasn't good enough, to know what she could have possibly done at two-years-old to drive a woman away from her baby. When she was ready for the confrontation, _that's_ when she would ask about her mother.

At age twelve and a half, Rachel Berry wasn't ready for a confrontation with the woman who didn't want her. She wasn't ready to be thrust into the forefront of her dad reconciling with his horrible mother. She wasn't ready to be left at the woman's house on New Year's Eve while her dads went out to a party.

_Daddy had helped her to pack up her duffel bag. _

_"Are you taking your penguin, Star?"_

_Rachel didn't look up from the game she was playing on her phone. She was just about to make it to level seventy-five. _Finally_. Suddenly, the device was ripped from her grasp. _

_"Hey!" she protested, pouting up at her daddy. _

_"Rach, it's rude to be on the phone when I'm talking to you," Daddy said sternly, holding the phone out of her grasp. _

_Rachel rolled her eyes. "Well it's rude to leave your daughter with her horrible grandmother on New Year's Eve!" _

_Daddy sat down on the bed across from her and stroked some hair out of her face. "You want to know a secret, Star?" _

_"What?" _

_"I don't really like her either," he chuckled. Rachel gasped. _This. Was. Scandalous_! _

_"You don't?" she asked, eyes gleaming. _

_"Nope." _

_"Then why do we have to put up with her?"_

_Daddy shrugged. "Dad wants to try again, it's important to him. So, you know what we have to do?" _

_"What?" _

_"Fake it till you make it, Star." _

_Rachel groaned exasperatedly. "You _always_ say that, Daddy!" _

_"And I'm always right," he told her, tapping her on the nose. "So, are you taking your penguin, or not?" _

_"Oh- you mean Mommy? Go on then. At least I'll have one parent with me tonight." _

_"Rach-" _

_"And throw in the sweatshirt while you're at it!" _

_"Rachel, stop being rude," he sighed, tucking the penguin into her bag. _

_"I'm not!" she whined. "I'm being totally serious. I need the sweatshirt 'cause Grandma's house is cold and creepy." She punctuated this assertion with wild arm movements. _

_"You're so dramatic," Daddy laughed. He took the sweatshirt from her closet and packed it. "It's only one night, Star."_

Nearly two years later, Rachel sits up from her bed and tries to piece herself back together. She can hear raised voices coming from downstairs and realises that her grandma is probably shouting at Miss Corcoran about something _totally _ridiculous. She's never going to get her fresh start if people don't realise soon that home and school don't mix.

Rachel Berry wasn't ready for a lot of things when she was twelve, but, most of all, she wasn't ready to be left without any parents. Two years can change a lot and yet that hasn't changed at all.

She tugs the sweatshirt tightly around herself and pulls her penguin out from under her pillow.

"I love you, Mommy," she whispers into the empty room.

* * *

_**A/N: Whoooosh. That was long. And written all at once because I took an Adderall to help with uni work.**_

_**Anyway, hope you enjoyed! We have answers, we have development... **_

_**I was going to split this in two, but decided to just go ahead and give a nice, long one as my holiday gift to you. Your holiday gift to me can be a review? Cheesy... I know. **_

_**Whatever you celebrate, or if you don't at all, have a great week! xo**_


	8. Listen

_**A/N: Another long one etc. Also, t/w for some description of sexual assault of a minor. Not too graphic, but yeah...**_

* * *

The world is still spinning. In fact, it feels as though someone's picked it up and thrown it off its axis, making it spin faster than ever. Back and forth, left and right; surely it's spinning in the wrong direction. But it shouldn't be spinning at all. The world should have come to a grinding halt. Why is the world still spinning? Why is there still oxygen to breathe in, or a sun to rise every morning? The incessant ticks coming from the clock on the wall shouldn't be there. The world shouldn't be spinning.

Hiram and Leroy Berry are dead.

So why has the world ignored this and carried on? Shelby wants to scream. She wants to run out of this stuffy living room and into the outside world. She wants to make every car in the street slam on their breaks and tell the dog a few streets over that there's no reason to bark anymore.

_Hiram and Leroy Berry are dead_.

Before the words had finished leaving Linda's lips, Shelby had begun to berate herself. How could she have ignored all the signs? They were neon, gaudy, blinking at her from every direction but she ignored them. She didn't want to see it and so she didn't. She still doesn't want to see it. Hiram and Leroy aren't _dead_. Hiram and Leroy wouldn't just _die_ and leave her and Rachel behind. They would _never_ do that. No, they're probably just hiding somewhere.

They were really good at hide-and-seek. Shelby can remember the house-wide game of it they'd played on the evening of Rachel's second birthday. Somehow, she'd ended up on a team with the little toddler, who hadn't contributed anything useful apart from to keep tottering away in the opposite direction to where her mother was trying to lead her. It had taken them forty-five minutes, but eventually they had found the two men down in the basement, tucking into a bottle of malt whiskey. Since the search had taken so long, they had told Shelby it was her who had the arduous job of trying to settle the overexcited little girl down for bed. They were _really_ good at hide-and-seek.

Has anybody thought to check the basement?

Hiram and Leroy Berry _can't _be dead. They wouldn't do that.

So why does Rachel freak out every time they're mentioned? Why is she living with her grandmother? Why does she seem so _sad?_

It's all Shelby can do to cling to the sides of the couch, digging her nails into the brown leather and willing it to keep her from flying off into space. After all, the world is still spinning; she really isn't sure how anyone has managed to hold on.

Try as she might, it's not working. Her body feels like it's being pulled in every direction and she's certain that she's moments away from losing her grip. She _can't _lose it. She'll be flung out into the void and that just can't happen right now. Rachel is upstairs.

Rachel is upstairs and Hiram and Leroy are dead and Shelby is clinging onto a brown leather sofa.

She forces her breathing to stay in time with the ticking clock. If that has somehow found the power to go on in a world without Hiram and Leroy, she can too. All she has to do is keep breathing.

They wouldn't do this. Why would they go to the trouble of clawing her back from the edge of the void once only to go and _die_?

If her life is a loaf of bread, it can be sliced in lots of different ways. There's a chunk that got eaten so long ago that she can't even remember how it tasted; that's when her mom and her dad were together and she thought pain was a skinned knee from falling off a bike. The time directly after her twelfth birthday has its own slice and it got lodged in the back of her throat. She choked on it for a while, sometimes she still does.

But the most important cut in the loaf separates out the time from _before _Hiram and Leroy and _after_ Hiram and Leroy. Before, she was alone. She was a singular pair of headlights on a dark street in the middle of the night. Or she was a lone pregnancy test stuffed inside three different plastic bags before she could throw it out in a random public trash can. Even as the baby inside her began to grow, stretching out her body and tearing apart her heart, she was alone.

After, though, she was never alone. She was surrounded by voices calling her downstairs for dinner and hands gripping hers in hospital beds. _After_ Hiram and Leroy, after they showed her that it was okay to love the baby inside her, and to maybe try to love herself, she found she wasn't alone. That feeling lasted, carrying her through bus rides and failed engagements and hysterectomies. Rachel was a part of her and Hiram and Leroy had Rachel. None of them were alone.

There have been times, of course, since she was nineteen, when she'd thought she was by herself again. That the bread had been sliced once more, severing her from the Hiram and Leroy section of her life. Now, however, she knows that she was wrong to think that. Because now she knows what that really feels like and it's worse than she could ever have expected.

Someone has taken a match to that whole section of her life. It's burning. Why is she thinking about bread when the world is on fire? The flames are rising up all around her and the heat is making it harder for her sweaty hands to maintain their grip on the couch. She has to hold on, though. Rachel is upstairs. Smoke rises and Rachel is upstairs. The stench of acrid burning fills her nostrils. She has to get them out.

"_Shit_," Linda hisses, pulling herself up off the couch and hurrying out of the room. Shelby glances up in time to see her pass through an adjoining door into a room where trails of billowing smoke are visible. Before the door swings shut, she can hear the distinctive beeping of a smoke alarm.

Smoke rises and Rachel is upstairs.

She's followed Linda through to the kitchen before she's even aware of her actions and it's purely on instinct that she grabs a dish towel. Wetting it in the sink, she begins to fan it under the beeping machine until the sound finally stops.

"Thank you."

She spins round to find Linda walking back in through the French doors. From the light streaming out through them, Shelby can see a smoking tray lying abandoned on the porch.

"I forgot about the bread I was baking," Linda explains, gesturing out to the tray. "My apologies."

"Oh," Shelby replies. It takes her a moment to place herself back in the kitchen, in Linda's house. The whole situation had been too much like one of her horrible dreams; a part of her had thought none of this was real. "That's okay."

Linda sighs, closing the oven door and taking the towel from Shelby. She hangs it over the metal railing and composes herself with a deep breath before she turns to face the other woman. It's the first time that Shelby has seen her looking properly ruffled. In a way, it's comforting that she's not the only one having trouble keeping it together.

"You're right," Linda says, eyeing her cautiously.

"What?"

"In thinking that we have a lot to discuss. We do." She walks back towards the door and holds it open for Shelby who, still in a state of shock, simply nods and steps through the threshold, hoping that she may finally find answers waiting for her on the other side.

Linda and Hiram working on their relationship, Rachel staying at her home for New Year's Eve, their car skidding on a patch of ice and landing upside-down in a ditch, two DOAs.

It's not long before Shelby's having second thoughts about wanting answers. Each revelation lands with a sickening thud on her body; she's sure that, come morning, her pale skin will be littered with bruises.

"I just don't understand," she chokes out, shaking her head. Her back has sunk lower and lower, curling in towards her legs, until she's now effectively bent in half on the couch. Maybe it's a feeble attempt to lessen the blows Linda is delivering.

"What don't you understand?" Linda asks. She runs her hands tiredly over her face, a gesture she's taken to repeating regularly as she's told the story.

Shelby tries to swallow the dryness in her mouth. Gone are the days of drowning in lifeboats; instead, she feels as though she's been dumped in the middle of a scorched desert.

"Why wasn't I informed? It was… I was always supposed to be told if something happened to them."

Linda frowns and shakes her head. "You really think that you deserved to know?"

_Yes._

"I…"

"Look," she says, leaning forwards, "no one knew where you were, Shelby. You may not have even been in the country for all anyone knew. Why would we waste our time and energy trying to track you down when there was someone, me, right here who was available to take Rachel? Not to mention the fact that you'd made your position clear."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Shelby snaps. Smoke rises to the top, maybe anger does too.

"Really?" Linda raises her eyebrows condescendingly. "My son and his… Hiram and Leroy gave you every opportunity to be a part of that little girl's life and you decided that you didn't want that. _You_ made that decision, Shelby. No one else. You've changed your mind? Too late."

"B-but… It wasn't like that," Shelby whispers. _Pathetic_. "I… She's my daughter… She's my _baby_. You should have told me."

"You weren't there to be told!" Linda shouts. When she catches herself raising her voice, she presses her lips together tightly. Clearly she doesn't think Shelby is worth that. "You brought this on yourself."

That blow lands harder than any other. Every inch of her skin aches with its truth and familiarity.

"I still deserved to know," Shelby says, forcing a false conviction into her tone. "She's my daughter and Hiram and Leroy were like my… I should have known."

"Maybe you should have," Linda concedes coldly. "And you probably would have had you not run away from all your responsibilities to go and be a reckless slut somewhere."

"No." Shelby's nails dig hard into her palms again. "You do _not_ get to talk to me like that. I don't care what opinion you had of me as a teenager, but that is _not _who I am or what I did. You don't know me. Hiram and Leroy knew me and they…" _Hiram and Leroy Berry are dead._ "They loved me and I loved them."

A dry laugh escapes Linda's lips. "You can tell yourself that, if you want. It's not true. You are a nothing but a little whore who passed her baby off onto the only two men stupid enough to take her. The whole thing was a sick joke. I don't know what the three of you were thinking, but all of you condemned that child the moment you decided to play house and try to live out that disgusting fantasy."

Shelby's sure she must have drawn blood by now. She wants to get up and slap the woman, make her feel a fraction of the pain she's currently experiencing. But that same thought stops her: _Rachel is upstairs_.

"That's not true," she says shakily. "That little girl, Rachel, she was… is… she's _so_ loved. I know you probably don't have much experience with that, but I can promise you that not a day has gone by where she hasn't been loved more than anyone else on the planet. And…" She shuts her eyes tightly, taking a deep breath, "And if Hiram and Leroy aren't here to love her anymore, then I'll love her enough for all three of us."

"Ridiculous," Linda mutters, shooting her a look of utter disdain. "You can't just take her with you now and live happily ever after!"

_Just watch me_.

"And why not? She's miserable here, I can see it."

"You don't know anything about her!"

Another stinging blow, which knocks all the wind out of her.

"I know enough!" she retorts sharply. "I can see it in her and it _kills_ me. She doesn't deserve this… She… I need her with me. I need her to come home with me so I can love her like me and Hiram and Leroy were supposed to."

Linda pauses for a moment, eyes boring into the woman before her. "No."

"Yes!"

"Listen to me, little girl," Linda says, her voice low and dangerous. "I am not about to let you come in here and destroy this family."

Shelby recoils, her breath hitching in her throat. She's heard that before… It's just the same as… Except it's _not_. She bites down hard on the inside of her cheek and shakes her head. It's _not_ the same because she's not twelve anymore. She can do this. She can be the one in control.

"You'd be so _proud_, you know," Linda continues dryly, smirking at the pain evident in Shelby's whole body. "She's really turning out just like you."

"W-what?"

"I caught her here with a boy the other week."

Shelby feels her shoulders fall. 'Family reasons'. That's what Rachel had said about her sudden transfer from McKinley. Jesse had told her that her daughter had been with her boyfriend. Nails rake up and down palms. She won't let anyone make her daughter feel like…

"And that, of course, came _just_ after I'd been called into the school to discuss a _highly_ inappropriate glee club performance she had coordinated. Genetics really are amazing, Shelby. Your daughter is becoming just like you. Maybe she's even getting a head start on you? Rachel's fourteen. How old were you when you began that kind of behaviour, hm?"

_Twelve._

"Like I said, you would be so _proud_. Your daughter is turning out to be nothing more than a dirty little _whore_, just like her mo-"

"Shut up, shut up, _shut up!_" Shelby shouts. She finally unclenches her fists and sees bright flashes of scarlet blood staring up at her. Quickly, she screws them up again. They're itching with pain and the desire to wipe the sickening smirk off Linda's face. _Rachel is upstairs. _"You will never speak about my daughter like that again, or I will kill you. That's a promise."

"A murder threat?" Linda chuckles. "I'm sure that will go down _excellently _in a custody petition."

_Rachel is upstairs. Rachel is upstairs. Rachel is upstairs. _

Shelby takes another deep breath. She _has _to calm down. She needs to be in control.

"So will providing a toxic home environment," she says finally. She flicks her eyes back up to meet Linda's cold ones. "I don't care what you say, I'm going to get Rachel back."

Linda folds her arms. "I wouldn't be so sure about that: she already said she didn't want to live with you."

"What?"

Rachel _knows?_ She knows who Shelby is and she hasn't said anything?

"She doesn't know it's you," Linda snaps exasperatedly, taking in Shelby's confused expression. "When Hiram and Leroy died, their lawyers presented the options to her. She was twelve. That's around the age where they take the child's opinion into consideration. She didn't want them to try to find you, Shelby. She _wanted _to stay with me."

And, after all this time, there's the blow that breaks her skin. Another dagger thrown into her heart. Tears fill her eyes as her body caves in on itself, tearing itself apart from the inside out.

"I- I don't believe you." She sounds like she doesn't even believe herself.

"Believe what you want," Linda says casually. "But only one of us was there to hear what she said."

"I…" She's losing control. She _can't _lose control. _Rachel is upstairs_. She's right there. If Shelby can just climb the stairs then she can-

"Take one more step and I'll call the police. I'll have you arrested for trespassing and aggressive behaviour."

Shelby freezes, one hand on the door handle. She doesn't even remember standing up and walking here. _Stay in control, _she tells herself firmly. How will she be able to help Rachel if she's arrested?

She stands up to her full height and turns back to face the older woman. "This isn't over," she says calmly. "Expect to hear from my lawyers."

With that, she exits the room and heads back to the front door. She doesn't bother to shut it behind her and simply strides down the driveway towards her car. It's then that she lets the tears fall.

"Just remember, Shelby," she hears Linda's voice call from behind her. "You don't have Hiram and Leroy to hide behind anymore."

She slams the car door shut behind her and immediately drives away. The tears she's been holding back pour down her face, dragging with them every ounce of control she had maintained in the house.

_Hiram and Leroy Berry are dead. _

000

_02:43_

That's the number Shelby's phone is gloatingly displaying. She narrows her eyes at it in anger and disbelief. It _can't_ be that late… or early. However you want to think about it, it just can't be that time. She'd only checked it a few minutes ago and it was reading _02:13. _Another half hour of restless tossing and turning has passed in the blink of an eye.

She sighs irritably and flings the device back down onto the empty side of the bed. Once more, she screws her eyes shut and curls onto her side. Prayers to any God who will listen, promises to be a good person and wishing on an overhead plane that could sort of pass for a shooting star have proved fruitless. Sleep just won't come.

It's as if she's chasing it through the labyrinth of her mind. She keeps getting close but it suddenly turns a corner and disappears; she finds her eyes shooting back open and the pressure in her chest telling her that she's forgetting to breathe. How can someone forget to breathe? Frankly, it's the least her body could do for her right now.

Maybe her mind is just too full. The labyrinth is packed with sights and sounds of the past and worries for the future. They blend into a haunting cacophony as she rushes past them, trying to keep up with the ever elusive figure of sleep. Certain moments keep stepping out to stop her, placing unmovable obstacles in her way that attempt to trip her up.

_"She's really turning out just like you_."

Linda's smug words fill her ears. They _can't _be true. Not after everything… Things were supposed to be better for Rachel; she was never supposed to be like her. Every decision Shelby's made, whether for better or for worse, was supposed to ensure that Rachel would never, _ever_ be like her.

Hiram and Leroy used to make jokes. They used to laugh at how similar Rachel was to her mother in the way she would dance around to any song that came on, or how she would mirror her pout when she didn't get her own way. Sometimes, Shelby would relish in that; she would feel _proud_ that everything in her life had led up to the creation of this perfect little star plucked down from the heavens. It never lasted.

_A china plate smacked down on the table. Then a princess bowl followed suit. _

Rachel was _never _supposed to be like her. Shelby was supposed to protect her from being like her. Rachel was the most loved little girl in the whole world. The princess bowl shouldn't have ever followed the china plate.

_"Your daughter is turning out to be nothing more than a dirty little whore, just like her mo-" _

_"Stop crying! I know you'll like this, Shelly. You dirty little whore_."

Linda's voice changes to _his_ voice. Shelby's eyes stay screwed shut, just like they had back then.

_The whole room is filled with a pungent stench. It comes from the burger he brought up for her and an unfamiliar smell she won't be able to identify for another two years. It's making her nauseous. She tries to scream but the muddy socks he's stuffed into her mouth mean that no sound comes out. She doesn't do anything except lie there and cry as he tears her apart from the inside out. Her whole body lurches backwards and forwards each time he pounds into her in a rocking motion. She's always hated boats; they make her feel seasick. _

_Her mirror is covered in stickers. Gold stars, sparkly unicorns, cartoon characters from her favourite TV shows. Her mom always said that she would regret putting them there when she was older and she was right. Shelby's older now. She's twelve years old today and she regrets putting the stickers all over her mirror. _

_They obscure her view of herself. As she stands there, staring at her own reflection, there's a gold star superimposed onto the bit of dirty fabric she can see poking out of her mouth. Her shaking hands reach up to pull it out. Her mouth is bone dry, covered in fibres of fabric and dirt from her backyard, but the rest of her is wet. The insides of her thighs are coated in blood and shame. The tears continue to roll down her cheeks, collecting in two wet patches on the top of her yellow dress. _

_"Genetics really are amazing." _

She should have seen it. All of it. She should have known that Hiram and Leroy Berry are dead and that genetics are amazing and that Rachel should never, _ever _be like her.

_Two-year-old Rachel rolls over in her crib. There are two wet patches on the top of her yellow night-dress. _

That was the night she could see it happening most clearly, the doomed path she was leading her daughter down. So she left. And still, _somehow_, Rachel is becoming like her. Hiram and Leroy were supposed to stop that from happening, but maybe it was all too much. Maybe the scars she had left behind were too deep to be sutured up.

_Hiram and Leroy Berry are dead_.

It can't be true. They were supposed to live forever and love Rachel with everything in them. She'd trusted them with the most precious thing in her life and they failed. She can still see their faces looking down at her with nothing but love and adoration. She can see them loading up boxes from her childhood bedroom into their car, driving her to hospital appointments, kissing her forehead, buying her a new mirror which wasn't covered in stupid stickers.

And they were perfect. In every way. They were benevolent angels, omniscient wise men, and reliable shepherds all rolled into two perfect men. They'd laughed when she told them that after watching a nativity reenactment on TV. They said that she'd always thought too highly of them, that they were just doing what any decent person would do.

But they were wrong. Shelby knew that because she'd met 'decent' people before, and nothing good had ever come from it.

"_Your uncle is a decent man, Shelby," her mother had said coldly, breaking the deathly silence which followed Shelby's confession. "I don't know what you think you're playing at, but I'm not going to let you destroy this family." _

_"I am not about to let you come in here and destroy this family."_

It was almost like Linda _knew_. She couldn't know, of course, but those words had sucked Shelby back in time to a place of unbridled shame and despair. Maybe it was just _her_. Maybe she would never work as part of a family unit because she just destroyed everything in her path.

And yet, there's that insipid reminder once more.

_Hiram and Leroy Berry are dead_.

They are dead and Shelby left: Rachel is no longer the most loved little girl in the world. Except she is. Because the second Shelby heard Linda say those words and she realised that the world was still spinning, she felt it. In a way she had never thought possible, the love she has for her daughter had expanded. It was like Hiram and Leroy were passing the baton onto her.

She can, will, _does_ love Rachel enough for the three of them.

Hiram and Leroy are dead and, within that fact, Shelby is forced to face a startling truth.

For all their goodness, all their truth and love, they were human. They were just two men who saw a scared and tortured teenager and did what they thought was right, both for her and for the baby they loved as their own. They weren't infallible gods; they could make mistakes. They allowed that horrible woman back into their daughter's life, after all. Shelby has always known that she can make mistakes but maybe, like Hiram and Leroy, she can also do some good.

Her eyes flick back open and stare into the calming darkness of the room. A small smile curves onto her lips, incongruous against the tear tracks on her face and her dishevelled appearance. She reaches for her phone again.

_03:21 _

The night is still young.

She clambers out of bed, pulling on one of Luke's sweatshirts which she keeps tucked under his pillow whenever he's not there. In a matter of seconds, she's down in her kitchen, tapping her foot to the thumping bass of _Queen's_ 'A Night at the Opera'. Narrowed eyes shift back and forth between her Keurig and her liquor cabinet. Neither option seems wholly appropriate for the situation.

Eventually, she gets out a can of Red Bull from the top shelf of her refrigerator and a bottle of vodka on the counter before her. Didn't someone once say life is all about compromise?

She sets her drink down on her office desk and turns on the large, two-screened desktop. It's usually only Luke who uses this computer, with her preferring the flexibility of her laptop, but she feels the situation calls for it now. With a few taps in her music app, the office speakers also begin to blare with the album she, Hiram and Leroy used to listen to so often.

As she brings up the number she needs from her contacts, the same one she _always _needs, and hits dial, she sends a little look upwards. It's not often that she's wished Hiram and Leroy could see her actions, but now is definitely one of those times. She knows they would be proud.

"Shelbs?" Luke's voice comes through the speakers, sounding justifiably confused. "Why are you-"

"Anna's a family lawyer, right?" she cuts across him, tucking her phone under her ear so that she can use both hands to type in the computer password.

"What? Why are you… Shelbs, isn't it like 3:30 AM?"

She looks down at the clock on the computer. "3:34, yep. Does Anna specialise in family law?"

"What's going on? Are you okay?"

She tilts her head in consideration. "I'm fine. I'm kind of great, actually. So… Anna?"

"Like my sister-in-law Anna?" She's not sure why he's being so _slow_. It's not the middle of the night for _him_.

"No, your 'model' ex-girlfriend Anna," she deadpans. "Yes, your _lawyer_ sister-in-law Anna."

"Oh my God- it was_ eight years ago_," he whines in the same way he does every time they have this argument. "I went on _two_ dates with 'model Anna' _eight years ago._"

"I still hate her," Shelby smirks. If she's being honest, she's not sure where this newfound levity has come from. Maybe a torturing trip down memory lane labyrinth was just the catharsis she needed. "Lawyer Anna, Luke?" she prompts. "Family law, yes?"

"Yeah?" Luke confirms, his tone still dripping with confusion. "Why? What's going on?"

Shelby takes a sip of her drink. "I'm getting Rachel back."

"You are?" he asks excitedly. "Shelbs, that's great!"

"I know," she says happily. "So, as much as I would love to stay and chat, I've got a lot to get done." She hears Luke take a long breath and so quickly continues. "I know that doing this in the middle of the night is probably dumb, but I can't sleep and I absolutely can't wait until the morning. I promise to eat at regular intervals and I'm not going to work so I'll sleep once I've got a plan."

He laughs softly. "That sounds like VA prep on crack. Don't let me get in your way, then."

"Wasn't planning on it. I'm a woman on a mission, babe."

"Yes you are, my little _007_. Call me if you need anything."

"Will do. Have a good last day." She slows down her rapid-fire speech. "I love you, and I am so, _so_ ready for you to be at home with me."

"Me too, Shelbs. Me too."

After she brings the phone away from her ear and the music starts up again, she looks up at the screen with determination blazing in her eyes. Cracking her knuckles, she gets to work.

* * *

_Hey, Anna,_

_Shelby here. Hope you and the kids are well. _

_So, I have something I really need to ask you, but it will require some context. Bear with me._

_When I was sixteen…_

* * *

_Dear James, _

_I very much apologise for the late notice, but unfortunately I am experiencing a family emergency and thus will be absent from school today. _

_Please see attached plans for each of my classes. _

_Regards, _

_Shelby_

* * *

_Jess, I'm not going to be in today. Will explain later. Please keep an eye on R for me and call me if anything seems weird. Go to all your classes- you know I'll find out if you don't. Love, Shelby._

* * *

_Vocal Adrenaline, _

_Rehearsal today is cancelled. Helen Keller would have been more in tune than most of you yesterday. See attached notes and work on it. Direct any qs re: 'how to sing' to Jesse or Rachel. _

_See you on Monday (ready to work), _

_Miss C_

* * *

She nods in satisfaction once all the necessary messages have been sent. A toilet break, a protein bar and a freshly poured vodka Red Bull later, it's 4 o'clock. She opens up three new tabs on her browser:

_'reinstating parental rights as birth parent'_

_'how to get custody of a child'_

_'parenting tips for teenagers' _

Let the games begin.

000

Rachel keeps her head ducked down into her chest as she scurries through the halls of Carmel High. For whatever reason, she'd had trouble getting her show-face to go on properly that morning. It wasn't for lack of trying, though. She'd spent almost ten minutes standing in front of the mirror in her bathroom, willing a brightness into her eyes or a smile to appear that didn't resemble some kind of creepy clown.

She blames it on her lack of sleep last night. Hunger had gnawed at every part of her aching body; she knew from the last time that she was properly enrolled in dance classes that she would need to eat more to compensate for all the energy she was expending. Her dads had always brought a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich for her to eat on the ride home on top of whatever her daddy was whipping up for dinner that night. While she isn't stupid enough to expect that kind of treatment from her grandmother, she had assumed that she would get _something_ in the way of food.

The woman hadn't arrived to call her down for dinner all evening, however, and Rachel didn't dare to leave her room after the shouting match that had occurred between her grandmother and teacher. Instead, she'd waited until she was certain that the woman was asleep- knowing that all that screaming about how much of a failure Rachel was had probably tired her out- before she crept downstairs to find something to eat. The kitchen had smelled smoky and was devoid of any signs of accessible food. Rachel had settled for a bowl of dry cereal. Her grandmother _never_ remembered to pick up her alternative milks.

It wasn't just the hunger that kept her awake, either. It was also the brimming anxiety about returning to school today. She has no clue what she could have possibly done to cause such an intense argument downstairs last night, but she knows that it probably doesn't portend good things.

_School and home should never mix. _

She _hates _it. Being out of control, being excluded from conversations that are about _her._ Yes, she's aware that there are things that she, as a fourteen year old, doesn't need to know, but that was about _show choir_! That was about the one thing in her life that doesn't make her feel like she's drowning under a wave of insecurity and secrets. She can just be _her_. She can sing as loud as she likes and dance until she thinks she might drop dead from exhaustion. The most comforting thing of all, however, is that she can allow herself to slip into a show face that is _supposed_ to be there. And she's good at it; all that extra-curricular practice has to count for something.

And, though the woman is nearly impossible to properly read, Miss Corcoran seems to like her. Really, truly, actually _likes_ her. She figures Jesse may have something to do with that, but it's still a win in Rachel's book; it must mean Jesse likes her too. It's not like he's the first boy to like her, she does have Noah after all, but he appears to appreciate her dedication to the arts and has a unique way of unlocking her fiery passion.

And he doesn't call her 'Jew-babe'. As sweet as it may be, she isn't always totally on-board with Noah's reduction of her to her religious background.

But now she's worried. It's as if a shroud of mist has fallen on the sacred ground of show choir. What if, after arguing with her grandmother, Miss Corcoran decides that Rachel isn't worth the fuss? She isn't sure she'd be able to cope. It's bad enough that the secret of her living situation has now been laid bare; she would lose any spark she still has going for her if she gets the boot from VA and is left with nothing to dwell on but the other secrets which haunt her.

The walk to her homeroom is torturous. Will Miss C bring up the events of last night? Is Rachel herself supposed to? She just wants it over and done with.

When she reaches the door, she pulls the straps of her backpack tighter onto her shoulders and braces herself. Here goes nothing.

She frowns when, instead of seeing Miss Corcoran sitting behind the desk, sipping from her ever-present coffee mug, she comes face to face with Mr Weatherby. This provides no relief for her swirling stomach. She's only seen the man properly once, during a meeting with herself and her grandmother regarding her transfer. He hadn't wanted to leave good enough alone and had been entirely too persistent in badgering for details about the reasons for her transfer. It was the one time Rachel was grateful for her grandmother's snappy temper. One outburst from her had been enough to shut him up.

She gulps when he glances up at her. Where is Miss Corcoran? Is he here because of Rachel? Because of everything that happened at the house last night? Has Miss Corcoran filed a complaint? Or, even worse, has her _grandmother_ filed a complaint?

_School and home should never, ever mix_.

Her stomach squirms as she desperately tries to arrange her features into a passable expression. She looks at the other students in the room, quickly scanning their faces to search for an appropriate character. _Tired, bored teenager, _she tells herself. She can do that. She _is_ tired and she _is _a teenager. The only thing she needs to do is add a sprinkle of boredom.

"Miss Berry," Mr Weatherby greets her coldly. "You're late."

Is she? She hasn't been paying attention to the time. Taking so long in the bathroom this morning meant that she forgot to put her watch on, and it's not as if she can just check her phone like everyone else can.

"I- I…" she stammers.

"Miss C always gives us an extra five minutes to get here," a voice says from behind her. She turns to see Sophie flashing Mr Weatherby a confident smile. "And Rach obviously didn't know that she was going to be out today." Rachel's face slips slightly as she tries to understand Sophie's lie; Miss C doesn't do that. Sure, she never really cares if anyone wanders in late, but there's definitely no set five minute rule. Sophie prods her in the back. "Right, Rachel?"

"Uh.. Yeah," she says, finally catching on and nodding. "That's right. I do apologise for the inconvenience though." She matches Sophie's easy smile.

"Does she?" Mr Weatherby asks. Rachel's sure she can spot some kind of far-off look in his eyes. "I suppose I'll let it slide this time then."

Before Rachel can speak again and blow their cover, Sophie grabs her hand and pulls her towards the desks at the back of the classroom.

"_You're welcome_," she jokes in an exaggerated tone, scooting her chair up to Rachel's desk.

"Oh. Yeah, right. Thanks."

Sophie wrinkles her nose. "You're being weird," she says. They're words Rachel's heard many times, but never usually peppered with so much concern. "What's up?"

Rachel blinks hard. When her eyes open, they _will_ be more lively. "Nothing," she replies casually. "Just a little tired."

Sophie nods sympathetically. "Tell. Me. About. It," she groans. "That math homework took me _forever_. Do you mind checking it for me? You get it way more than I do."

She leans down to open her backpack and retrieve the book while Rachel stares on in confusion. "Me?"

"Yeah, you," Sophie says in a '_duh'_ tone. "You're crazy smart."

"Oh." Rachel lets a genuine smile grace her features for the first time that morning. She's _smart_? It's something she never used to question, especially in math. When she was small, her dads always had her counting things around her for them. Apparently they read somewhere that it was the ideal exercise to stimulate young minds. But she hasn't thought of herself like that for a while.

She reads over Sophie's work, occasionally pointing out small errors, while the girl chatters away next to her.

"Did you see Miss C's email? Oh… Shit. Sorry. No phone." Rachel braces herself for the teasing that never follows. "Well, anyway, she's not coming in today, which means that rehearsal is off later. But I was hanging out with Giselle and Lottie earlier and they said they were going to use their lunch period to run through the stairs section of the choreography. I know you've pretty much got it down, but do you wanna join anyway? I want to totally stick it to Stanley when he comes back. Still can't believe he said I needed to go on a 'green tea diet'. I don't even _like_ green tea. Anyway, Lottie says she has a free period before so she'll go out and get us some _real_ food to eat- I'm so sick of the cafeteria stuff. I told her I was going to invite you and she said she'd get something vegan for you if…" She trails off when she notices that Rachel's face is contorted into a frown and she's no longer looking at the math book. "Rach?" she says, waving a hand in front of the girl's face.

"Did she say why?" Rachel asks worriedly. There's something gnawing deep in her stomach again, and this time she can't blame it on hunger. Jesse had told her that Miss C _never _cancelled rehearsal. Something's definitely up. Something that wasn't happening before last night.

"Well no, but she's knows you're vegan after you went _in_ on Stanley yesterday. That was so ep-"

"No," Rachel interrupts, shaking her head. "I mean, Miss Corcoran. Did she say why she was cancelling rehearsal?"

"Oh." Sophie thinks for moment. "No, I don't think she did. _But_," she continues softly, leaning in towards Rachel, "Parker said he heard Jesse telling Cami that her boyfriend's coming home this weekend. Maybe she just wanted to, you _know_, get… _ready_."

Sophie collapses into a fit of giggles which Rachel can't help but tentatively join her in. _Relief_. Maybe she's wrong. Maybe this has nothing to do with _her_.

It's only when she feels realises this that the thought turns bittersweet. Perhaps a part of her had been hoping that someone would finally notice that there's something going on.

She shakes the thought from her mind, returning to Sophie's work and fixing a miscalculated multiplication. She can't have it both ways. She can't constantly put so much effort into keeping her secrets if she's then going to be disappointed that people can't see beyond the façade.

"…don't _you_?" She catches the end of Sophie's speech, but has no idea what she's been saying.

Feigning concentration on the homework once more, she glances back up her distractedly. "What, sorry?"

"Don't you find it weird to think of _Miss C _having a boyfriend?"

"I don't know," Rachel replies honestly. She hasn't given it much thought. Her main concern surrounding the teacher has been trying to pinpoint exactly why _she_ has become a favourite. "You can be independent and in a relationship."

It's only once the words have left her mouth that she worries she might have said too much. She likes Sophie a lot, but that's one secret she's definitely not ready to have out in the open yet. Word might get back and then… Well, she doesn't want to think about _those _consequences.

"Oh yeah, for sure," Sophie agrees with a nonchalant shrug. "Yay for feminism and all that!" She punches a fist into the air. "Whatever, anything that will take some of her attention off our 'Helen Keller' singing, I guess." She rolls her eyes playfully before looking down at the book. "So, what's the verdict?"

Rachel hands the book back over. "You don't give yourself enough credit. You might have Helen Keller's singing voice, but you appear to also have her smarts."

Sophie narrows her eyes. "I don't know whether to slap you, or hug you."

"Hug, please!"

As Sophie laughs and pulls her in, Rachel berates herself. Could she _try_ to sound more desperate?

000

Rachel steps out of her last class before lunch with a spring in her step. The lingering black cloud of last night is still hanging over her, but there's definitely some sunshine peaking through. She knows Sophie was mainly just buttering her up earlier so she would check her homework, but she's allowed herself to feel _smart_ all day. The kids at Carmel don't seem nearly as irritated by her raising her hand in class or actually trying to learn something as the ones at McKinley did. It's a nice change.

Whenever the cloud _has_ come back into her vision, reminding her that her show choir dreams may still be quashed before they've begun, she's settled on thinking that perhaps she can at least excel academically without the threat of a daily slushie facial.

She's humming some Barbra to herself as she walks towards the auditorium. Only, of course, because this section of the hallway is completely deserted. She may be feeling more confident, but she doesn't have a death wish. She passes through the heavy wooden doors that separate out this area of the school and begins to make her way up to the stage.

Suddenly, she feels a strong pair of arms grab her from behind. Her heart leaps into her throat and her whole body tenses.

"I carry a rape whistle!" she whimpers with as much confidence as she can muster.

Her tightly shut eyes and quivering frame don't do much to add to the false assurance, but it's what her dads always taught her. They'd promised to actually buy her a whistle once she turned thirteen. At the time, Rachel had laughed it off, though they seemed deadly serious. It was only when she was met with the gut-wrenching realisation that they would never again be there to hold her hand or protect her that she'd begun to wish they'd just bought it for her earlier. She feels that now especially.

"Geez, _relax_, would you?" a male voice says quietly. The grip loosens slightly

In her frantic state, it takes her a moment to recognise it but once she does, she spins round and lands a hard _smack_ on his arm.

"Jesse!" she huffs, glaring at him and folding her arms. "You scared the… bejeezus out of me!"

"'Bejeezus'?" Jesse smirks. He rubs dramatically at his arm. "God, you hit just like y-… Shelby."

"What?"

"Nothing," he says hastily, running a hand through his hair. "I've been looking for you all day."

She shoots him a skeptical look. "Me? Why?"

"'Cause we're friends, stupid. Or," he cocks an eyebrow, "we _were _until you decided to assault me."

"That was simply self-defence," she says, trying not to smile _too_ broadly at his assertion of friendship. As much as she still misses McKinley, the benefits of Carmel really are beginning to stack up. "And, hi. You found me."

"I did." He grins down at her.

"Sooo?"

"So what?"

"Did you want something, or do you make it a habit of greeting all your-" _Don't make it weird, Rachel. _"- friends like that?"

"I just missed you," he says sweetly. When _she_ now lifts an eyebrow, he chuckles. "Fine. I did miss you, but I also wanted to see how the meeting went last night."

Rachel's playful smile falters. "It was fine," she says quickly. "At least, I think it was. I wasn't there for most of it. My… uh… my grandma wanted me to go work on my homework." She figures if the cat's out the bag, there's no sense in trying to shove it back in. When she sees Jesse frown a little, the squirm of worry reappears. "Why? Did Miss Corcoran say something to you about it?"

"No, she didn't say anything," Jesse says brightly. It's _too_ bright. Rachel's sure there's something he's not telling her.

"Do you know why she's not in today?" she asks, trying to read his face closely.

"She's sick," he replies, not missing a beat. "Stomach flu, you know how it is."

"Right…"

"Don't worry, it's nothing to do with you," he assures her. "She just got sick late last night."

Rachel's stomach clenches. "Why would I think it was something to do with me?"

"You wouldn't!" he cries, eyes darting upwards. "I- I mean, no. It's fine. Shelby's fine, she's just…"

"Sick?" Rachel suggests, still looking at him cautiously. Maybe this kind of behaviour is the 'weird' Sophie was talking about earlier.

"Yeah," he nods. "She's just sick."

Rachel maintains her curious gaze for a short moment longer before she shrugs. Jesse's probably just on orders to keep whatever the real reason is for Miss Corcoran's absence on the down-low. Her teacher not being at school is _nothing_ to do with her, in every sense if Jesse is to be believed. And she doesn't have any reason not to believe him; they're friends, right?

"So why are you down here anyway?" he asks, steering away from the clearly awkward subjects of Shelby and the previous night.

"Rehearsal," Rachel says. "Some of the girls are working on 'Rehab' to get it up to Miss C's standards for Monday. There was something about Helen Keller going around…"

"Shelby's so dramatic," Jesse sighs, rolling his eyes. "You read the email though, right?"

She frowns, looking down at the ground. "Not yet. You know I don't have a phone and…"

"Sorry," he says quickly. "I didn't mean to…" He pulls out his own phone from his back pocket and taps the screen a few times. When he goes to hand it to her, Rachel sends him a confused look. "Just read it. It's a good thing."

She gingerly takes the phone and looks down at the email. "What?" she gasps, when she reaches her own name. "Why would she say that?"

Jesse accepts the phone back and smiles. "'Cause she can see how talented you are," he says warmly. "Calling it now, you're going to be the first Freshman to be a lead in competition."

"Shut up," Rachel says, shoving him lightly. She won't even consider allowing herself to imagine that. It's too much. But the reassurance that she isn't about to get kicked out is enough to make her smile.

Jesse holds his hands up. "I mean it!"

"_Stop_," she protests, feeling a warm blush creeping onto her cheeks. "I should get going and you can get back to…"

"Waiting to pounce on unsuspecting women," he says, quirking his eyebrows.

"Yeah. Or maybe not that." Shoving down any reservations, she steps forward and gives him a quick hug. "See you later, Jesse."

"Yeah," he murmurs as she pulls away and scuttles towards the stage. "See you later."

000

Shelby's head smacks against the desktop screen as she jerks awake with a start. Her groggy head struggles to work out exactly where she is, or why she's woken up like that, before she eventually realises that she must have fallen asleep in her office. She wrinkles her nose when she sees the little pile of drool puddled on her keyboard. _Gross_.

She quickly finds the source of her rude awakening in her phone buzzing against the metal pen holder. Deciding it can probably wait until after she's properly awake, she goes to decline the call. The name on the screen stops her in her tracks, however, and she fumbles to answer it.

"Jesse?" She sits up straighter in her desk chair, slapping her hand all over her face in a weak attempt to perk up. She feels the imprint of the keyboard on her left cheek. "What is it? Is Rachel okay?"

"Hey," he replies casually. "You sound weird, did you only just wake up?"

She could strangle him. Seriously. "Is Rachel okay?" she repeats.

"What? Rachel? Yeah, she's fine," he says. Shelby lets out a relieved sigh. "Are _you_ okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she says tightly. "Don't _do_ that, Jess. God, you scared me. I thought something had happened to her." She takes a few deep breaths, trying to get rid of the feeling of panic which had overcome her at seeing his caller ID.

"_Aw_," Jesse coos. Shelby can practically _hear_ the smirk he's wearing. "You're so cute when you're in worried mom mode. I like it."

"I'm mentally smacking you right now," she says dryly. "Right on top of your big, fat head." His words suddenly hit her. "And do _not_ use the 'm' word. Not if you're at school… and you _better_ be at school. I swear to God, Jess, if you're not-"

He cuts her off with a scoff. "Of course I'm at _school_."

There's something about his tone which doesn't sit well with her. "Where?"

"What?"

"Where exactly in the school are you?"

_Silence_.

"Jesse."

"Shelby?"

"_Jesse_."

"Okay fine," he huffs, muttering something under his breath. "I may or may not be in your office."

"_In my off_-" The hand holding her phone clenches so hard that her knuckles turn white. "How do you even-? No. You know what, I don't think I really want to know-"

"Wise choice."

"-I just want the key left on my desk tomorrow."

She hears him let out a prolonged sigh. "_Fi-ine_," he sing-songs, dragging the word out into two syllables.

"Every copy of the key."

"What? Ho- How do you _do_ that?" he whines.

"I'm a very, very smart woman," she says coolly, reclining back in her chair. "And you would be wise to remember that."

"Whatever," Jesse mutters before clearing his throat. "So tell me, o wise woman, how are you holding up?"

Her heart melts. Only _Jesse_. Only with Jesse can she swing wildly between wanting to murder him and wanting to wrap him up in a tight hug and never let him go.

"I'm okay," she assures him softly.

"Really?" he asks skeptically. "So you've, say, eaten? Slept?"

Her mind flashes back to the instant oatmeal she forced down at 7:30 this morning while reading up on the intricacies of a Californian court case to do with birth parent rights.

"I ate some breakfast earlier," she offers honestly.

"You know, most people like to have their breakfast _after_ they wake up."

"Really?" she deadpans. "Now that sounds boring."

Jesse ignores her. "And how long did you manage to sleep for?"

"Uh…" She looks around to find a clock without much luck; her computer screen has long since faded to black.

"It's 12:30," Jesse supplies.

"Well," she stalls, trying to recall the last moment she knew the time. It was definitely somewhere around ten when she had an email back from Anna agreeing to meet her on Monday. "I can confirm that I've had a nice power-nap at least. I'm feeling very well rested"

"You know, you keep talking in your 'Oh I'm Shelby Corcoran and I'm completely _fine_ tone'," he says, adopting a, in Shelby's opinion, totally inaccurate high-pitched voice, "but all I'm really gathering is that you would get a failing grade in the 'Luke Gupta School of Looking After Yourself'."

"Tell him any of this and I'll deny it."

"He'll believe me over you," Jesse says confidently.

"_Pfft. _Yeah, right."

"He would! We watch the Jets together. There's an unspoken rule of honesty that comes with that."

Shelby pouts. "It's not _my _fault I hate baseball."

"The Jets are football, Shelby. Come on!"

"Eh, it's all the same."

"Going to pretend you didn't just say that," Jesse says in a horrified tone. "Hey? You wanna know something?"

She grimaces. "Definitely going to need more context before I answer that…"

"It's a nice Rachel thing."

"Oh," she says, voice brightening considerably. "Then yes."

"I showed her the email you sent out earlier. You should have seen her face when she got to the part about her!"

A cheesy smile dances across her lips. "She liked it?"

"She lit up like a Christmas tree," Jesse confirms. "Or… I don't know… Like a Menorah, or something?"

Shelby's attention is too busy focussing on the warm fluttering sensation in her heart to attempt to correct him. _She's_ done that. She made her daughter happy! Sure, it's distant and she wasn't even there to see it, but still, baby steps. Baby steps leading in the right direction.

And the best part is, she didn't even have to lie. In her completely unbiased opinion, Rachel and Jesse _are_ the best singers on the team. She can't help the fact that they're her obvious favourites, or that she's related to one and feels like she's related to the other. It's just a fact. Jesse's been under her tutelage for so long and with such care, that it's inevitable that he's become so good. And as for Rachel? Well, she allows herself to finally think, Rachel is all _her_.

"God, I love her so much," she murmurs, almost forgetting that Jesse can hear her.

"I know," he says softly. "I'm so happy for you… For both of you."

She smiles fondly. "Thanks, Jess. For everything… I just… Thanks."

"S'okay," he replies shyly. "You'd do it for me."

She doesn't need to confirm that she would, she's already proven herself to him countless times. They bask in the emotion of the moment until Jesse, of course, breaks it.

"So, what's next in 'Mission Get Baby Back'?" He laughs to himself. "Geddit? Like 'Baby Got Back' but-"

"Yes, thank you, Jesse." She sighs. _Unbelievable_. "'Get… Baby… Back?'" she repeats incredulously, rolling her eyes. "I'm hanging up now."

"Shel-"

000

The following morning, Shelby sits at her homeroom desk taking long sips of her coffee. She's doing an excellent job of proving anyone who ever doubted her acting abilities wrong. Holding a copy of _Frankenstein_ in one hand, she flips casually through the pages, while never peeling her eyes away from her daughter. As has become commonplace, Rachel is sitting near the back of the classroom with Sophie practically on her lap as they whisper to each other.

Ordinarily, Shelby would be pleased that Rachel seems to have settled in so well, that she's already made a new friend. But, just for this morning, she can't deny that the situation is rather infuriating. She'd hoped to catch Rachel as she walked into the room slightly late like usual, but the girl had barely glanced her way, walking straight towards Sophie and striking up a serious conversation.

She doesn't want to _interrupt_. Not only is that rude and slightly invasive - and she _really_ needs Rachel to trust her right now - but it would also only attract attention to the situation. Doing that is last on her priority list. So she's just watching and waiting, biding her time. If only she had some donuts- then it would be a proper stakeout.

Every time the minute hand judders forwards on the clock opposite her, she becomes acutely aware that time is running out. While Rachel and Sophie's conversation is still in full swing, Shelby decides she can't wait any longer. She can't miss this opportunity. Not when everything is riding on it.

She sets the book down and gathers herself momentarily. It's all about just placing one foot in front of the other. And then, of course, arranging a conversation that will change both of their lives forever. She approaches them cautiously, not entirely unsurprised when neither girl notices her encroaching presence.

"You just have to ignore her, Rach," she hears Sophie whisper, laying a hand on her friend's arm. "She's just jealous and she doesn't know what she's talking about."

"I don't know," Rachel mutters back. "I mean, she's probably right. Maybe I took it too far by telling her that I'm more dedicated than her… It seemed like the right thing to say at the time."

The clear despondence in her daughter's demeanour is nearly enough to make Shelby say fuck the plan and demand to know who's messing with her kid _this time_.

"You didn't," Sophie says firmly. "Honestly, Giselle's just a bitch who got what was coming to her."

_Giselle_. Shelby's eyes narrow. Yet another name to add to her 'Don't Mess With Rachel Berry' hit-list. It's grown rather a lot over the past few days: Dakota, the girl sitting in the front row whose name she hasn't bothered to learn but who decided to laugh at Rachel's carousel horse sweater, Giselle. She hasn't quite made up her mind as to whether Jesse has a place on the list. It'll all depend on how tightly he holds her during dance rehearsals on Monday.

After lamenting over how best to exact her revenge on these individuals, she finally notices that Rachel and Sophie are both looking up at her expectantly. It's harder to conduct an undercover stakeout when you're standing two feet away from your prey.

She gives her best friendly smile. "Everything okay, girls?"

Sophie turns quickly to look at Rachel, who gives a minute shake of her head.

"Yes, thank you," Rachel says sweetly. The fake smile on her lips tears at Shelby's resolve. She locks eyes with her daughter, silently telling her that it's okay, that she can be trusted. Rachel's face never falters.

"Oh, good," Shelby says.

Sophie jumps into action. "We were just discussing some of the Invitationals choreography," she lies, smiling brightly. "Got to keep it all up in here, right?" She taps the side of her head and sends Shelby a knowing look.

It takes everything in her not to roll her eyes. Instead, she just smiles again before turning her attention towards her daughter.

"Rachel," she begins, wondering whether the girl can hear just how much emotion lies behind that simple word. _Rachel, you're my daughter and I'm your mom and I'm sorry that I haven't been there. But, Star, I can promise you that I love you more than you will ever know. _"I… I was wondering whether you'd be able to swing by my office during lunch?" A pang of guilt sweeps through her as Rachel's eyes widen in fear. "It's nothing bad," she clarifies quickly. "There's just something I need to discuss with you."

"O-okay," Rachel stammers. Shelby sees a little blush growing on her cheeks.

"You don't need to worry, I promise." Rachel ducks her head. Shit, is she laying it on too thick now? "I… Just stop by, okay?"

She barely waits for Rachel to send her a little nod of confirmation before she turns away and strides towards the classroom door. She's standing right by it when she remembers that her first class is in here. Awkwardly, she changes course and shuffles back to her desk.

"Uh… Have a good day, guys," she calls out to her class. They exchange a few deliberative looks among themselves before ultimately realising that this is a dismissal. Shelby waits until the door has swung shut behind the last kid before she lowers her head onto her desk and thumps it there a few times. _Get. It. Together. _

000

Bright sunlight streams into Shelby's office through the small window. Everything seems to glow with a soft yellow tone that fills the space with an air of peaceful warmth. She smiles to herself as she adjusts some flowers in the vase on her desk.

Her attention is drawn to the door by a quick succession of knocks.

"Come in!" she calls brightly. A large smile crosses her face at the sight of her daughter bounding gleefully into the room. "Hi, Rachel!"

Rachel grins back. This time, there's no trace of it being fake at all; she looks genuinely delighted to be in Shelby's company.

"Hey, Miss C!" she replies happily, taking a seat. She seems to think for a moment, cocking her head in the same, curious way she always did as a baby. "Actually, would you mind if I called you Shelby?"

Shelby shakes her head. "Not at all," she replies warmly. "Although, there is something else you could call me."

"Oh, really?" Rachel asks, leaning forward eagerly. "What's that?"

"You could call me 'Mom'," Shelby says. Any nerves are immediately dispelled when Rachel gasps excitedly.

"Really?"

"Yes, baby, it's true," she says. "You see, Star, I'm your mom and you're my daughter and I love you more than anyone else in the whole, wide world."

At once, Rachel is on her feet, running round the side of the desk and embracing her mother in a tight hug. "Oh, Mommy," she whispers. "I love you too!"

Shelby holds her daughter in a tight embrace. She smells like baby powder and soap. The warmth she feels is like nothing she's ever experienced. Her daughter is back in her arms and everything is just so perfe-

"Miss C?"

Shelby blinks hard and finds a classroom full of students staring at her intently. Her eyes widen and the dopey smile on her face turns painfully stale. A hot flush overtakes her cheeks as she tries to get back to grips with reality. _Who's the blusher now, Rachel? _

She's incredibly grateful that it's her seniors; at least most of them are vaguely tolerable. If she's had to embarrass herself in front of anyone, it may as well be them.

"Sorry," she says as lightly as she can. "Completely zoned out for a moment. I was sick yesterday and man, how about those cold and flu tablets, hey?" A smattering of laughter follows. _It's okay, you're probably not going to get shipped back to the loony bin. _"Where were we?"

"Reading aloud," Cami, a girl from VA, says in a disparaging tone. "We've been reading aloud for like twenty-five minutes."

"Okay," Shelby says carefully. Was she really out for that long? "Well, since I know how much you all _love_ that, please feel free to continue. Cami- you're Lady M. Go."

They all stare at her, completely unimpressed. Some even groan.

"What's that?" she asks brightly. "You're saying you'd all rather do me a timed writing exercise?"

Quickly, twenty students reach for their books. Cami flips through her copy frantically, trying to find the right page.

"Yeah," Shelby says with a firm nod. "That's what I thought."

000

Shelby's office is painfully dreary. The overcast October day offers no beacons of warm sunlight to set the right mood and the overhead light is doing no favours for her complexion. She frowns at herself in her little compact mirror. Has it always made her look this bad? She makes a mental note to get Jesse's opinion on it later as she scrunches her face from side-to-side, hoping to invite some life into her tired features. It's useless. She's running on less than six hours of sleep over two nights and it shows. Just brilliant.

_'Hi, Rach. I'm your mom. Bet you're so pleased to have my genes.'_

It's as she's considering pulling out her tube of mascara for a quick top up that she catches how stupid she's being. She's about to completely change the direction of her daughter's life and she's worrying about her _eyelashes?_ She's asked herself the question too many times in her life, but she thinks by now she deserves an answer. Just _what_, exactly, is _wrong_ with her?

She's replacing the compact in her top desk drawer when a hesitant knock on the office door sends her practically flying out of her seat. In her wild movements, she somehow manages to slam the drawer shut against her thumb.

"Fucking _ouch_," she moans, bringing it up to her mouth and sucking on it. As if _that_ will do anything to soothe the throbbing pain. "_Ow ow ow owww_…. Come in!" Her voice is strained and her eyes are already stinging with tears. This is really not going to plan.

Rachel pushes the door open and steps cautiously inside. Clicking the door shut behind her, she peers curiously up at her teacher.

Shelby, thumb in mouth, gestures for Rachel to take up a seat in the empty chair. She watches as her daughter perches nervously on the edge of the seat, positioning her hands tightly in her lap. She looks as if she's getting ready for a formal school picture, not a heart-to-heart with her mother, or even her favourite teacher. She needs to rectify this, and fast. Giving her thumb one, last, futile suck, she sends her daughter a sheepish smile.

"Hi, Rachel." She holds up her hand to display her injury. "I just trapped my thumb in a drawer."

_Nice, Shelby. Real nice. _

"Oh," Rachel says with a slow nod. "Are you okay?"

"I think I'll live," Shelby chuckles. Rachel barely even makes it past a tiny smile. _It's time_. She can't bear her daughter's nervous shifting or scared eyes any longer. "Thanks for coming. And, I swear, it's nothing bad. I really just want to talk."

This does nothing to ease Rachel's tension. "O-okay." She squirms a little in her seat, looking down at her hands. "Is this about the other night?"

Shelby's stomach clenches. Had Rachel _heard_? She couldn't have, right?

"What do you mean?" she asks softly.

Rachel sighs, eyes still fixed downwards. "I know that my grandmother isn't the easiest woman in the world to get along with and I… I heard shouting."

"Oh, Rach-"

"I-I'm really, _really _sorry if she said something she shouldn't have," the girl continues breathlessly. "I… I'm sorry." She finally meets Shelby's eyes with a sad desperation. "I _really_ want to be on your team, Miss Corcoran. Please… I… I'll do anything. Just please don't kick me off."

Shelby feels a sharp pain in her chest as tears well up in her daughter's eyes.

"Rachel, no," she says. She sets her elbows on the desk and leans forwards. "It's not like that at all, honey."

Rachel frowns before her eyes widen. "Oh," she whimpers. "So it's me? I'm just not good enough?"

"No," Shelby says firmly. She's fighting with every muscle not to just go and pull the girl into a hug. She needs to get it all out first. Explain now, hug later. "Rachel, I'm not kicking you off the team."

"You're not?" she sniffles. Big, brown eyes meet Shelby's.

"Not by a long-shot," Shelby smiles. "I told you, Rach, you're one of the most talented kids in there. I need you to see that."

Rachel reaches up to wipe her face with her sleeve. "Sorry. You don't have to say all this just because I'm crying."

"I'm not."

"I'm sorry," she repeats, voice stifled by choking sobs. At the sight before her, Shelby's body just reacts. In an instant, she's round the front of the desk, kneeling in front of her daughter. "I just… I'm _trying_, I promise I'm trying… I…" She trails off and takes a couple of shuddering breaths.

"Just breathe for me, honey," Shelby says gently, placing a hand on Rachel's knee. She squeezes it in time with Rachel's breathing, using this motion to also keep her own in check. The whole situation is just _too_ similar to the one she was in with Jesse earlier this week.

_Rachel was never supposed to be like her. _

"That's it," she whispers as Rachel's breaths begin to even out. "Well done, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry," Rachel says again, looking down in embarrassment.

"Hey- you _never_ have to apologise for how you're feeling, okay?" _Not to me. Because you're my daughter and I'm your mom and I love you. _

"Okay," the girl repeats.

Shelby squeezes her leg again. "Look at me." She waits until Rachel's glassy eyes meet hers. "I mean it, Rachel. All of it. You don't need to say sorry for being upset, and I don't want you thinking that I'm only saying anything about your talent because of that."

_I'm not even only saying it because I'm your mom._

"You're such a special girl," she says.

"I'm not."

"Yes you _are_."

Shelby sighs, lowering her gaze for a moment. How has life broken her daughter this much? She was supposed to be happy. She was the most loved little girl in the world. _Is,_ she reminds herself. _She is the most loved girl_. When she looks back up, she knows that's true. She can feel it in every inch of her body as she takes in her baby's sad appearance.

"You're an amazing girl who's experienced some bad things."

She feels Rachel stiffen, her face freezing in horror. "What?"

Shelby bites down on her lip. "Rachel, I…" Why can't she just _say _it? "I know about your dads."

"No no no no no," Rachel whispers. She clamps her eyes shut as more tears spill down her cheeks. "She told you that? She shouldn't have…"

Shelby takes a deep breath. "Yes, Rachel. She should have bec-"

"No!" Rachel sobs. She recoils back in her chair, leaving Shelby's arm to flop pathetically down by her side. "That's _not_ her thing to tell. It wasn't her dads, it was _my _dads. They were my dads… and… they…" Her shoulders begin to shake up and down.

Shelby freezes. Her heart is hammering in her chest and she has tears pricking at her own eyes. She _can't_ do this.

She _has _to do this.

She pushes herself clumsily to her feet and leans in to hug the girl, easily fighting against her stiff resistance. She has her baby in her arms, so why does it still hurt so much?

"_Rachel_," she soothes softly. "It's okay. I promise you it's all going to be okay."

"No!" Rachel pushes her roughly away, nearly sending the woman to the floor, and gets shakily to her feet. "It's not okay! They're dead… They… It's all…." She shakes her head before looking back up at her teacher with wide eyes. It's as if she's suddenly remember who she's talking to. "I… Miss Corcoran, I-I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologise," Shelby says quickly. She reaches out to take Rachel's hand but finds it jerked away once more. "Rachel, _please_. Just-"

"I can't do this," Rachel whispers, batting frantically at the tears still streaming from her eyes. She glances back over at the door and begins to move towards it.

Time seems to move in slow-motion for Shelby as she watches her tormented daughter run away from her. _Do something_.

"Rachel- wait! Just… I need you to listen to me." She catches up to her almost instantly in the small office and secures a tight hold on the girl's arm.

"Let _go_ of me," Rachel sobs, still facing the door and desperately trying to pull herself free.

Shelby holds tight. _Say it_.

"Rachel, _look_ at me," she pleads despondently. "Look at me, Star."

Immediately, the girl's whole body slackens. For a moment, Shelby's sure she's going to fall to the ground and she readies herself to catch her if she needs to. She will _always_ be there to catch her. But Rachel stands firm. She reaches out an arm to steady herself against the office wall before she finally, slowly, turns her head. As she meets her mother's eyes, another tiny sob escapes her lips.

"_Rachel_…"

"Don't," she says quietly. It's the most strength her voice has had this entire time.

Rachel's eyes stay locked with hers for a long, silent moment. The only noise comes from Shelby's laboured breaths. She can feel them rattling through her entire body, her chest drastically rising and falling, but still, she just holds Rachel's gaze. The girl's eyes betray all her emotions, softening and hardening so much that Shelby can practically see the thoughts whirling around her mind, the cogs turning inside her head as she tries to make sense of the situation.

"I… You…" Rachel shakes her head again, biting hard on her lip. "Say it." Her voice is croaky, but firm. "I need to hear… Say it."

Shelby swallows hard. "Rachel," she says softly, "I'm your mom."

* * *

_**A/N: Dun, dun, duuuun. I know we've been building up to this for a while- so I hope it wasn't too anticlimactic... Don't worry, it's not going to be all plain sailing from here.**_

_**A quick couple of things: my F/C for Luke is Dev Patel- but feel free to imagine him however you want, I guess! And, not sure if those people will be reading this, but I've had a few qs about updates for 'Room'. Coming soon- I promise. I've just been invested in this one but I'm totally planning on continuing it.**_

_**Thank you SO much for the response to the last chapter- seriously made me SO happy. As always, would love to know what you made of this one! **_

_**Happy New Year! xo **_


	9. The Story of Chess

Rachel Berry is a halfway decent chess player.

As a child, both of her fathers travelled frequently for work. One was always there, of course- no, they would never leave their darling angel alone. Despite this, Rachel felt the imbalance that permeated the usually idyllic household when either one was away too strongly. Characteristically a stickler for routine and order, she experienced atypical sleepless nights and tremors of anxiety whilst one was gone. Maybe there was a lingering fear of the threat of abandonment somewhere deep inside her psyche. As it goes, this may not have been entirely unjustifiable.

When she was eight, the chess games started. It was her daddy, always the voice of placating reason in the house, who had first sat her down before the checkered board and told her that they would play until she felt ready to sleep. At her inquiries, he'd shrugged and told her that it was a game for only two players; it was one thing that the three of them, who moved through life like one triadic being, couldn't do together. It had to just be two of them. So Rachel played chess with her daddy, and later also with her dad during the times Leroy was out of town.

The structured rules of the game and the critical evaluations of all her movements that it required formed a perfect distraction for the girl. It didn't take long until she began to view her fathers' work trips with a hesitant excitement; she can recall one occasion where she'd practically pushed her daddy out the door so that she could race to the games' cupboard to extract the board. She didn't like it so much, of course, when her fathers eventually decided that she had to learn to lose and started playing properly. But Rachel was never one to back down from a challenge; she took it in her stride and nothing could wipe the smug grin from her face that appeared after beating Hiram properly for the first time.

Recently, she hasn't been playing much chess. She's missed setting the game up more than anything: she would always take her time over that aspect, laying out the various black- she was _always_ black- pieces with precision and care, as if she was welcoming them into her team. Small fingers would trace over the intricately carved wood as she lay them fondly on their starting lines. The queen, in her unbridled glory, was always her favourite piece. Rachel liked the fact that she could go anywhere, _be _anywhere, with no one to question her power. It was a quality that reflected her own ambitious nature.

After the accident, Rachel was plucked out of the life she once knew like a pawn who'd only made it half-way across the board. She'd been tossed to the ground next to the chess board; nobody had any use for her anymore. Among the other discarded chess-pieces of the wreckage, there was a new house and a new school. What she couldn't seem to find were new friends, new ambitions… a new family, no matter how hard she may have been looking.

So, no, Rachel Berry hasn't sat down in front of a board for a while, but somehow she's still been playing chess. Chess, which was introduced to drag her mind away from the anxiety of a missing parent, is pertinent now more than ever. She's been calculating her moves several steps in advance, constantly trying to decipher the strategies of other players and, as always, desperately trying to emulate the easy grace of the queen.

As Rachel grasps tightly onto the office wall, feeling like the whole world is imploding around her, there's only one thought running through her mind: _Checkmate. _

It can't be true.

Statistically, categorically, unequivocally, it just _can't_ be true. She can't be standing in the same room as her mother. She can't have just _hugged_ her mother.

Rachel knows this because she's experienced this before. Back in the days when she was still searching for the woman, she'd lived through the feelings of excitement, wonder, awe that occurred whenever she'd thought she'd found her. Now, she feels as though someone's swiped the pieces off her chess board.

_Game over. _

Rachel Berry, halfway decent chess player, has been defeated. She's not sure she wants to shake her opponent's hand.

It can't be true. But if it's not, then why is her heart hammering in her chest like this? Why are her eyes burning with an endless supply of tears? Why is her head slowly turning back to face the woman in front of her?

She's not responsible for the sound that comes out her mouth as she meets the woman's eyes. Eyes which are feral with an imploring desperation, watching her closely.

_Ice Queen_. That's what Jesse had said Miss Corcoran's nickname was among the team. Cold, calculated, powerful. While she doesn't look any of those things in this moment, Rachel can't shake the sense that it seems fitting. She's been taken down by the white queen.

"_Rachel…" _

The woman's voice cracks over the simple word but it's not this vocal error which makes Rachel flinch. It's the pure emotion the utterance conveys. If it's not true, then why is she saying her name like that?

"Don't." Rachel's not sure how she manages to get it out. To get anything past the lump that's stuck in her throat, suffocating her. But she can't listen to anything the woman has to say, not yet anyway. She needs to think first.

She stares the woman down.

It's all there, now she knows what she's looking for: the dark hair, the high bone-structure, the expressive eyes, even their _voices_ are similar. If it's true, how could she have missed this?

Jesse didn't, she remembers. "_You guys_ do_ look kind of similar_."

It's not the first time the comparison has been made. Many times when she'd met members of her fathers' families, they'd been quick to point out the uncanny resemblance Rachel had to the woman who bore her. Her dad and daddy had always been prompt in shooting them a pointed look to remind them that Rachel didn't want to know about her mother. The girl herself had usually been fine to laugh it off, _"Well, you see, there are these things called genes… Kind of important for making a baby_." Faced with her own features staring back at her, it's harder to see the funny side.

She wills the rational part of her brain to come up with some logical excuse for all of this? What had she said the first time? That her and Miss Corcoran were from a similar background and that's why they shared a physical resemblance? _Fine._ That's fine. She'll put it down to that. What's harder to ignore, of course, is the name that got them into this situation; maybe the one word in the entirety of the English language that would have caused Rachel to halt in her tracks. _Star_. Miss Corcoran had called her _Star_. She hasn't heard that name for almost two years. It was the name that only her dads ever called her. Their name. _Her _name. Names…?

Something stirs within the deepest crevices of her mind as her eyes narrow in on the woman's face, onto Shelby Corcoran's face. And then it's like Rachel has been hit, repeatedly, in the stomach by some winding tangible force: _Shelby_… _Shelbs_…

It's a name she's only heard through closed doors, her ear pressed right up against the wood, straining to listen in on her fathers' hushed conversations. She can hear it all much more clearly now.

_"Have you heard anything back from Shelbs?" __"Not yet."_

_"Has Rach taken that sweatshirt off yet?" __"Nope. It's funny, isn't it? We always said Shelbs would make a New Yorker out of her."_

_"She was amazing up there tonight. She reminded me so much of…" __"Shelbs, I know."_

"I… You…" Rachel's not even aware she's speaking until she hears her own voice stuttering pathetically into the quiet room.

She bites down hard on her lip to stop it surprising her again; she still needs to get her thoughts in order before she can speak. They're coming at her from all directions all begging the same question: it can't be true, so why is it?

"Say it," she says, as firmly as she can. Her eyes bore into Shelby's panicked ones, pleading for some kind of resolution. This is something Rachel can't do on her own. "I need to hear… Say it."

She waits with bated breath as the woman composes herself before, _finally: _

"Rachel, I'm your mom."

_Checkmate._

A gasping sob escapes the girl's lips. She wouldn't be able to say exactly what's caused it: shock, maybe? Anguish? _Relief_? She can feel the tears streaming down her face but they no longer concern her. She just keeps staring at the woman, at Shelby, at her _mom. _And _she's_ staring right back, eyes filled with worry.

Rachel's lost the chess game. She was always supposed to be two moves ahead, and now she's not. She's fallen behind and she has no idea how to recover. But if she's already lost, is there any point in trying to recover? She takes a shaky step towards her mother.

"_M-Mommy_," she chokes out. The look of pure concern and care for her etched into Shelby's features is enough for Rachel to fling herself into her mother's arms.

The force of it is so strong that the pair of them teeter backwards for a moment, both holding on tightly to each other, as if they're going to fall to the ground. Rachel isn't sure exactly how it happens, but Shelby somehow manages to keep them upright, her strong arms quickly wrapping around the girl and pulling her closely in.

"You're okay, Rach," she soothes softly, resting her chin on top of Rachel's head. "I've got you, you're okay."

The girl sniffles into Shelby's chest, breathing in the smell of her musky perfume. She's buried herself within the woman's embrace so tightly that she can hear her mother's heart steadily thudding underneath her purple blouse. She uses this sound to steady herself, to remind her that this is real.

"Mommy," she whimpers again, clutching at the silky blouse with her fingers.

"I'm right here, Star," Shelby whispers back. "I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere, I promise. It's all going to be okay."

Rachel's not sure exactly how long they stay like that for, but eventually she pulls back a little. She needs to look at her mom's face again, just to check that it's actually _her_. Maybe she's imagining things, but as she gazes up at the woman before her, she's sure that she can recognise her from the few pictures she saw when she was six. The same pictures that she swore to burn from her memory. In this moment, Rachel's not sure why she would ever have wanted to forget that face.

"You okay?" Shelby asks, an amused frown crossing her face at Rachel's awestruck expression. Rachel nods slowly, still completely transfixed by her mother. Her hand makes its way from Shelby's back and reaches up to touch her cheek.

"It's really you," she breathes out. All her dreams, all those nights spent clutching at that penguin couldn't have prepared her for this moment. Her mom is right in front of her.

"It's me," Shelby confirms with a nod. She too takes a hand to the girl's head, tucking some hair gently behind her ear. "Hi."

"Hi," Rachel replies, smiling shyly up at her.

The woman's face crinkles in delight and adoration. "Oh, come here." She pulls Rachel tightly into her again, rocking her a little as she places a quick succession of kisses onto her head. "My baby girl. My beautiful, sweet, _perfect_ baby. I love you _so _much."

Head still buried in her mother's chest, Rachel peers up at her with wide eyes. "Really?"

"Of course, Rachel," she says, voice thick with emotion. As she presses her cheek against Rachel's head again, the girl can feel her tears wetting her hair.

Her mom loves her? _Someone _loves her? It's not something she's heard for a while. She can remember, just after the funeral, relatives saying the words to her, but they never felt real. Her grandmother used to say it too, at first. It's never felt like this, though. Not since…

"I've always loved you, Star."

Another sob works its way up through Rachel's body and she feels her mother's grip tighten in response. There's that name again, the one she's only heard in her dreams for nearly two years.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, my love?" Rachel pulls away a little and looks timidly up into Shelby's warm eyes again. Her own are cloudy with tears and her bottom lip is shaking uncontrollably. "You can talk to me, baby, it's okay."

Another sob splutters out from deep within her. "D-Dad and Daddy died," she says shakily. Tears are pouring down her face now in fast, warm streams. "Th-they died, Mommy. They left me and I- I was all by myself."

Shelby's eyes shut tightly as she takes a shuddering breath. She quickly tugs Rachel into her chest again. "I know, baby, I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry. I- I should have been there- I'm so sorry that they died and I'm sorry that I wasn't there. I… I love you, Rachel."

Rachel sniffles hard, pressing her face into her mother's blouse. She's glad that, for once, there's something other than her own shirtsleeves there to catch her tears.

"Did you know?" she whispers after a few moments.

"No," Shelby says firmly. "No, I had no idea. You have to believe me, Rach, if I knew, I would have been there for you straight away."

Rachel gives a small nod before pulling away, looking directly at her mother again. "Did Grandma tell you?"

Shelby smiles sadly. "Yeah, she did." Rachel's body tenses and she feels strong hands begin to rub a soothing pattern on her back. "I didn't know where they were or why you were living with her, so I asked and-"

"What?" Rachel jerks backwards, a confused frown working up through her features. "Y-you said you didn't know."

The woman matches her perplexed expression, shaking her head. "I didn't? Rach, I had no idea that they were… dead."

Both flinch slightly as the last word leaves her mouth while Rachel inches further away, trying to make sense of her words.

"But you knew… about me? You knew who I was before you drove me over there?"

"Rachel, of course I…" Shelby falters as the girl's brow furrows deeper. "Yes," she confirms after a beat. "I knew who you were but-"

"How long?" Rachel interrupts brusquely. There's at least a foot between them now. The warmth she had felt in her mother's arms is rapidly dwindling and she wraps her own around herself protectively. "How long have you known that I'm your…" She swallows hard. "Your daughter?"

Shelby's eyes flick downwards for a second, her lip pulled between her teeth. "Since I first saw you," she mumbles.

"W-what?"

A heavy sigh overtakes the woman's body. "I knew who you were the first second I saw you, when you first came into my classroom."

Rachel's breath hitches in her throat. "You've known for over a week and you didn't say anything?"

"Rachel, I-"

"No," Rachel cuts firmly across her again. She turns away, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. How could she have been so _stupid, _so trusting? She had promised herself she wouldn't be like that anymore. "I- I was all alone. I've been all by myself for nearly _two years_ and- and then you came and you knew and you didn't say anything." She stares back up at her mother. "_Why_? What did I do to make you… Why didn't you say anything?"

It's hard to believe the woman in front of her has ever had enough strength to be termed the 'Ice Queen'. Now, she looks as though a gentle tap from a pawn would send her flying.

"Rachel, baby, I didn't mean to hurt you. I was just scared and I-"

"Oh, you were _scared_?" Rachel cries. "_I've_ been scared too! You know when I was scared? When I was twelve and my dads died and left me all alone! But _no_, it's _absolutely fine_ to leave me alone for even longer because you… You were scared."

"I'm sorry, baby," Shelby says desperately. She takes a step towards the girl who immediately shuffles backwards. "I'm so sorry. I just- Your dads and I… I just wanted to speak to them first."

"Well you can't," Rachel says, folding her arms across her chest. "Because they're dead." She sniffs hard, wiling her voice to stay strong, disconnected. "Do you know how long they've been dead for?"

The woman glances up before sheepishly meeting her eyes. "I… Your grandma said it was New Year's-"

"Yep, New Year's Eve nearly two years ago. That's six-hundred and forty-nine days." She lifts a hand to swipe crossly at her face. "They've been dead for six-hundred and forty-nine days. A-and _you… _You didn't know and you didn't care."

"Rachel I _do_ care," Shelby implores. "I care _so_ _much." _

_"_No you don't!" Rachel retorts angrily. She stares down at the floor; she doesn't want to have to look into her mother's eyes right now. "I know you don't, because if you did, you wouldn't have lied to me for a week. You- you wouldn't have left." Even with everything in her body trying desperately to prevent it, her bottom lip begins to tremble again. "_Why_, Mommy? Why did you leave? What did I do?"

"Rachel- no. It wasn't you. I promise I didn't mean to hurt you, baby." Shelby sighs again, each time she does so, it appears that her last embers of strength leave her body in the heavy breaths. "I- I just…"

"Just what?" the girl shouts, tears flying down her face. "You 'just' decided you didn't want to be a mother anymore? You thought you could 'just' leave me with a stupid sweatshirt and a stupid penguin and that everything would be okay?"

Shelby's face adopts a wistful gaze for a moment. "You still have the penguin?"

Rachel looks on in horror. "Are you _kidding _me right now?" She turns to storm-out of the room but quickly finds her hand being tugged back into her mother's. Spinning around indignantly, she wrenches it away and folds her arms once more. "What?"

"Rachel, will you please listen to me?" Shelby asks, her face contorted with emotion. "Can we sit down and talk about this properly?"

"What is there to talk about? You didn't want to tell me who you were, just like how you didn't want me and you left."

"I did want you, baby! I _do_ want you." She takes a deep breath. "Let's just sit down and talk, okay?"

"No," Rachel says, shaking her head. "Whatever you have to say, just say it now." Shelby stares at her pleadingly and reaches up to run a hand through the girl's hair. Rachel ducks to avoid it. "Go on," she prompts.

"I love you, Rachel. I need you to know that I love you so much an-"

"You can't just keep saying that!" the girl snaps. It's partly because she _knows_ there has to be more explanation that the woman can offer her. It's also because she knows that if Shelby says it enough times, she'll completely tear away at any resolve Rachel has left. She'll be defeated by the words she's longing to hear.

"I know, I'm sorry," Shelby sighs, wringing her hands.

"Yeah, you keep saying that too," Rachel says tersely. "Do you have anything else to offer?"

She swears she sees Shelby gulp. Her mouth opens and closes for a few seconds as if she's deliberating on whether to let her words leave it.

"Whatever it is, just say it."

Shelby locks eye contact with her, breathing deeply. "I'm filing for custody of you."

"_What?_" Rachel's stomach flips over on itself in a mixture of shock and… something else, something she can't quite pinpoint. "Why?"

"Because I'm your mom and I love you," Shelby says simply. "You were always supposed to come to me if… If something happened to your dads." Rachel feels tears stinging her eyes again. "I know this is a shock, baby," she continues, laying a hand on Rachel's arm, " and I know you have every right to be mad at me. You completely do. Be mad at me as much as you like. But I promise you that this will all work out for the best, okay? Sometimes, Rach… Sometimes as the mom, I need to make decisions for both of us."

Rachel shakes her head furiously. She can't listen to this right now: it's all too much. And so she chooses to focus on what she can understand, or rather, the pain she's most familiar with. "What decisions? Like deciding to leave when I was a baby?"

"It wasn't like that, honey, I swear," Shelby protests quickly. She glances down for a moment and takes a breath to continue, but is cut off by the piercing sound of a phone ringing.

Both mother and daughter turn to look at the phone lit up on the desk.

"You should probably get that," Rachel says coldly.

"It's not important," Shelby dismisses quickly, returning her gaze to Rachel.

The girl raises her eyebrows. "How do you know? Or do you just make it a habit to consider things unimportant until they're staring you right in the face?" She walks towards the desk and picks up the phone, holding it out to her mother. "Here, I'll make the decision for both of us. I hope 'Marty' has a more enlightening conversation with you than I've managed to. We're done."

"Rachel- wait!"

But Rachel's already dropped the phone into Shelby's shaking hand and is storming out of the office. She slams the door shut behind her and, for a second, waits right outside the door, trying to regather her breaths. A part of her hopes that her mother will follow.

But then a muffled voice comes through a closed door. _Again_.

"Hi, Marty… Yeah, I'm sorry I wasn't there yesterday. Something came up."

Rachel scoffs bitterly as she begins to walk away. _Something came up_. She's just a 'something' now, is she? While she hurries back towards the main school building, she's muttering under her breath, berating herself for the fact that she was so immediately trusting and vulnerable with _that woman._ She was stupid to have conceded her defeat so easily; the chess board can always be set up again.

So caught up in her ranting and trying to dry her face off, she doesn't notice she's not alone in the hallway until she slams into a hard body.

"Hey! Watch where you're- Wait, _Rachel_?"

Her head flies up to spot Jesse standing in front of her, a confused expression of concern riddled on his face.

"Sorry," she mumbles, dragging her hands away from her wet cheeks. Maybe he won't notice if she doesn't acknowledge it. "I didn't see you there."

"Clearly," he says slowly. "Are you okay?"

His tone suggests that he can already see that she is, very much, _not _okay so she doesn't bother to lie.

"Not really."

Right away, Jesse pulls her into a tight hug which she can't help but return. At least _he_ won't be able to hurt her like Shelby could.

As he pulls away, the questions come flooding in. "What happened? Were you just in Miss C's office? Where are you going?"

"Nothing important, yes, and no idea," she answers, forcing a small smile on. He doesn't look convinced. "I'm okay, I guess…"

"You don't look it."

"Gee, thanks," she says, pushing the boy away from her and rolling her eyes. "You sure know how to charm a girl."

"One of my many skills, I know," Jesse quips before softening his gaze. "You can talk to me, you know, Rach."

She sighs. "I know, I just…" She _can't_ do it right now. She needs to patch herself up before she heads back into battle. Suddenly, the thought of doing _anything_ is just too much to even comprehend. "Do you wanna get out of here?"

"What? Ohio? Yes, definitely. I-"

"Not _Ohio_," Rachel says exasperatedly. "Here. School. Now?"

"Now?" Jesse asks worriedly.

"What? It's not like you've never skipped before. That's how we met, remember?" _How we met when my mother already knew who I was and decided not to tell me. _"So?"

"Uh." Jesse looks around nervously before shrugging. "Sure. Where do you have in mind?"

000

The second he puts the car into park, Jesse glances over at Rachel in trepidation. She's still feigning an aura of composure, licking nonchalantly on her ice cream cone, but he can spot the fear brewing in her big eyes. They reek of it. It's been there for the whole afternoon, following them around the park, then various stores and finally the ice cream place she insisted they visit. It's more pronounced now, though, and it makes him uneasy.

"We're here," he announces. The unneeded words hang in the air as Rachel looks up at her house without making any move to leave his car.

"We are," she confirms. Her tongue pokes out at the ice cream again. Eventually, she sighs and looks back at Jesse. "Thanks for this afternoon. I don't know what came over me at school."

Jesse nods, smiling warmly. He has a pretty good idea of what might have happened, but he won't dare mention it to her, not while she still looks so anxious over the whole ordeal. The numerous phone calls he's declined from Shelby only confirm his suspicions; the threat of what might follow them has him feeling a little apprehensive too.

"No problem," he says lightly. Rachel still doesn't move. "I could come in for a bit, if you want? Not like- I don't mean like _that_," he adds, seeing her alarmed expression. "I mean like… Your grandma's not home yet, is she?" Rachel shakes her head. "Cool, so maybe we could hang out, listen to some music or something?"

"You don't have to do that," she says quietly. "I'm sure you have better things to do."

"Not really," he shrugs. "At least not until later tonight. Come on," he nudges her shoulder playfully, "we could even get a head start in figuring out a set-list for that benefit dinner thing?_ I know singing makes you feel better,_" he teases in a sing-song tone.

Rachel smirks. "How could you possibly know that?"

"'Cause you're kind of the slightly-less-polished, female version of me."

She shakes her head incredulously before throwing her hands into the air, a real smile finally crossing her face. "Fine!"

They're sitting on the floor of Rachel's bedroom an hour later with approximately no ideas as to what they're going to sing for the benefit. They have, however, belted out nearly every show tune on Jesse's phone and discussed their favourite casts for each musical in detail.

"It _can't_ be Ariana," Jesse frowns, shaking his head. "I mean, yeah, sure, she can _sing_. But I just don't think she'll be able to capture Elphaba's emotional insecurities."

"That's fair," Rachel concedes, "but we need someone with her star-power to allow the movie the chance to flourish properly. Hollywood runs off of star-power."

"I _know_ that," Jesse says. "Of course I do. I mean, come on, who better to know that than a future star? And that's why it's fitting that _you_ know it too. You're going to be a star, Rach. We both are, I can feel it."

Somewhere along the line, he's not sure where, Rachel's face has furrowed into a frown. _What did I say now?_

"Don't doubt yourself."

"I don't," she replies quickly, snapping out of whatever trance she was in. "Anyway, it probably doesn't even matter who we think should play her now. It's most likely going to be at least another five years until they make the _Wicked_ movie anyway."

He shrugs. "Maybe they'll wait so long that they can cast you. I'm serious!" he protests at the skeptical look she's shooting him. "You'd be the perfect Elphaba."

She holds his gaze for a moment before smirking. "Are you calling me emotionally insecure?"

_Well now you put it like that…_

"'Course not," he laughs. "I just want you to be cast so that you can recommend the perfect co-star. Me."

"Oh sure," Rachel says, nodding exaggeratedly, "I'll put in a good word for you to be one of the flying monkeys."

She quickly ducks as Jesse lunges at her, grabbing her sides and tickling her wildly.

"Jesse, s-stop!" she splutters through a fit of giggles. He pins her to the ground and arches an eyebrow.

"Sure, I'll stop," he says, holding back for a moment, "as soon as you admit that I'd be the _perfect_ Fiyero."

"Never!" Rachel cries, squealing as he attacks her sides once more. She manages to extract an arm from the side of her body and begins to retaliate. They're both gasping for breath through hearty laughs when the door to Rachel's bedroom swings open with a bang.

"What the _hell_ is going on in here?"

Jesse sees Rachel's eyes widen as she swiftly pushes him off of her. He lands back on the carpet with a dull thud, panting. In a split-second, Rachel's on her feet.

"Grandma," she starts, approaching the woman who is standing in the doorway, scowling down at both of them, "I can expl-"

"There's no need," the woman responds coldly. "I can see that you've decided to move your promiscuous activities into school hours." She grabs a hold of Rachel's arm and Jesse sees the small girl immediately tense. "Do you have _any_ idea how humiliating it is for me to receive a call from your school inquiring into your absence this afternoon, Rachel?" She shakes her arm angrily. "_Do you_?"

"No," Rachel whispers, tears beginning to slide down her face.

Jesse quickly pushes himself up off the carpet and takes a tentative step forward. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but it's not like that. Rachel was upset at school, and I know we shouldn't have skipped, but we were just hanging out here, I swear. Nothing happened."

The woman turns her livid gaze on him. "It seems I got here just in time then." Without letting go of her granddaughter's arm, she moves away from the doorway. "You can go now."

Jesse can feel his heart pounding in his chest. There's absolutely _no _way he's going to leave Rachel alone with that crazy woman. If not only because he's worried for his friend, he also knows Shelby would never forgive him if something happened to her. Maybe he should call her? She'd know what to do, right? Shelby can fix anything. Although, it didn't exactly look like things had gone well between her and Rachel earlier. Plus it would take her a while to get here.

"Now," the woman's stern voice interrupts his deliberations.

"Rach-"

"Just go, Jesse," the girl says imploringly, eyes still filled with tears. "_Please_."

"But-"

"_Please_."

Jesse sighs, looking between Rachel and the door. "Fine," he relents, walking out of the room. "Sorry again, ma'am. I'll see you Monday, Rach."

He's sure he hears the older woman scoff at that assertion but before he can respond, he finds the door has been slammed shut in his face. _Fuck_. He begins to walk down the stairs, his body resisting each step he takes away from the bedroom. _Think_, he tells himself.

Strangely, he still can't hear anything coming from the room by the time he's at the bottom of the staircase. He then realises they're probably waiting for him to be out of the house before… Well, before whatever's going to happen, happens. Suddenly, he gets an idea. _Rachel's bedroom faces the back of the house_.

Making sure he can be heard, he stomps over to the door- a task made easier by the heavy boots he's wearing- opens it, and then slams it shut again. He waits for just a few seconds before he hears the voices start up. _Ha, sucker. _With a smug grin, he creeps back towards the stairs, straining to hear what's going on. After all of this is over and he's made sure Rachel is okay, he can't wait to tell Shelby; she'll be so proud that he's finally put his brain to use.

"This is getting absolutely _ridiculous_, Rachel!" he hears her grandmother shouting. "_Two_ different boys in as many weeks! You are _fourteen_!"

"I know, Grandma but-"

"But nothing! And what happened to the other one? I thought he was your 'boyfriend'?" That causes Jesse to frown, both in anger at her demeaning tone, and the fact that Rachel's in a relationship. For some reason, it still just doesn't sit well with him.

_"_He is! I mean _was_," Rachel cries. "And Jesse's not- we were just hanging out, I promise. Nothing would ever happen like that with him."

_Ouch, _Jesse thinks before quickly telling that thought to go away. _Not the time_.

"Are you forgetting what I walked in on, Rachel? You skipped school- causing me to have to leave work early by the way- to come back to _my_ house and whore yourself out to him!"

"I didn't!" she protests. "I'm not-"

"I don't know what to do with you anymore. God, you are so like…"

"So like who?"

"So like your mother, Rachel! Goddamnit… I've tried and I've tried, but you just _insist _on acting so-"

"Why didn't you tell me about her?" the girl interrupts. "She was here and you didn't tell me."

Rachel's voice has suddenly become much softer and Jesse finds himself slowly inching up the stairs in order to hear her more clearly. It doesn't help, of course, that his heart is thumping so loudly in his chest that it makes it hard for him to hear much of anything. He was right: Rachel knows about Shelby.

"She finally told you?"

"Yes," Rachel says. Even from down the stairs, Jesse can sense her hurt tone. "But why didn't you? You should have told me!"

"I have done everything for you! Who else was there to put a roof over your head after Hiram and Leroy died? Not _her_, that's for damn sure."

"She said she was supposed to get me if anything happened to them…"

"_You _made that decision, Rachel! The lawyers asked you if you wanted them to find her, and you were the one who said no!"

Jesse recoils. Rachel didn't want to know her mother? That doesn't make any sense. Why would anybody voluntarily _choose_ that horrible woman upstairs over _Shelby_?

"Because _you_ said she didn't want me! You made her seem so… so _awful_."

He feels his hands ball into fists. If that woman says one word against Shelby, he knows he'll have to fight to restrain himself. Nobody gets to say a bad word about her on his watch.

"She _didn't _want you! She _left_ you! Or have you forgotten about that in your lovely little reunion? She walked out on you, on _all_ of you!"

_It wasn't like that_, Jesse thinks furiously. Sure, Shelby broke down halfway through telling her story, but he knows that that's not what happened at all. He could see how much that decision had broken her.

"No!" Rachel shouts back. "She- she says she loves me."

"_Loves you?_" her grandmother jeers coldly. "Rachel, the only person that woman loves is herself! She doesn't love you."

"She's filing for custody of me! And you know what, maybe I'll just go with her! You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

It's silent for a moment. Jesse leans further up the stairs, thinking that maybe their voices have dropped to inaudible whispers. Then:

"Fine," the woman says. "I've tried my very hardest, Rachel, but if that's what you want then just go."

"What? No, I-"

"Go. Get out."

"Grandma, I-"

"Get out of my house. _Now_!"

The bedroom door swings back open with a bang that echoes down the stairs. _Shit, shit, shit_. Jesse can hear rapid footsteps coming towards them and realises he has absolutely nowhere to hide. He didn't think of this scenario when he concocted his brilliant plan. _Shit_.

"Oh- look!" the woman says mockingly. "Your _new boyfriend's_ even waiting to take you away."

Jesse looks back up the stairs to see her pulling Rachel down them roughly. He can't hold it in anymore.

"Let go of her!"

"Gladly," she says, relinquishing her grip on the girl. Without the support, Rachel trips down a couple of the stairs before regathering her balance and peering back up at the woman.

"Please, Grandma. I-I'm sorry, I'll be good, I promise," she sobs, her whole body shaking up and down.

"Go. Now."

At the despondent and helpless look on her face, Jesse quickly climbs up towards her. He throws an arm around her trembling shoulders and shoots daggers at the older woman.

"Come on, Rach," he says softly. "I've got you."

"J-Jesse…"

"Shh, it's okay," he soothes, pulling her in towards him so he can help her manage the last few steps. "Let's go."

As soon as they're out the front door, Rachel breaks down into a fit of anguished sobs like Jesse's never heard before. Ever. From anyone. The closest thing he can link them to is the way Shelby was crying in the office earlier that week. Just like hers, Rachel's cries are so… vulnerable and raw. He feels a pain deep-down in his gut from just looking at her- he can't even begin to imagine how she feels. So he does the only thing he can think to do, he leans in and hugs her tightly.

"I've got you, Rach," he murmurs into her soft hair. It smells good. Briefly, he wonders what scent of shampoo she uses. _Not. The. Time_.

"W-what am I going to do?" she whimpers, pulling back enough to look into his eyes. "I've… There's nowhere for me to go, Jesse."

_Yes there is_.

"Don't worry about that right now," he tells her gently. "Just breathe for me, babe, okay?"

The term of endearment slips out before he can stop it, but either she doesn't care or simply doesn't notice. She just sobs into his chest, her tears wetting right through his sweatshirt.

"Nice deep breaths," he coaches, using his own breathing to demonstrate. Yes, he's stolen the technique from Luke, but it seems to work as Rachel's haggard cries slowly fade away. He looks in the direction he's pretty sure London is in and sends a silent 'thank-you' to the man. He can do this, he can be Rachel's Luke. Not in, like, the _boyfriend_ sense… Just in the highly calming presence sense.

"I'm sorry," Rachel says as she finally draws back again. "And I'm sorry you had to hear all of that. Can we just forget about the whole… mother thing? I- I'm not ready to talk about it."

Jesse bites back a groan, but nods. "Sure," he replies, using his fingers to dry some of her tears away. "And don't be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I screamed at her and she kicked me out," she chokes out, fixing her gaze downwards. "And now I don't have anywhere to go."

"One- the screaming was _totally_ deserved," he says firmly. "She's a bitch. And two, we'll find somewhere for you to go, Rach. Together." Rachel nods sadly, sending him a small, grateful smile. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about the… um… 'mother thing'?"

"Let's just go back to the car."

Once he's got Rachel settled in the passenger seat, he hands her the bottle of water he keeps in his cup-holder.

"Here. You gotta rehydrate after a session like that."

"Thanks," she laughs shakily, taking it and unscrewing the cap. She downs a few sips before looking back at him with a wrinkled nose.

"What?"

"You should really invest in a reusable bottle," she says knowingly. "Do you have any idea how many of these end up in the ocean?"

Jesse scoffs at her deciding that now is an appropriate time to lecture him; she really is Shelby's daughter. "Yeah? Well _I've _never thrown one in the ocean."

"Not the point, Jesse," she says sternly. She drinks a little more before replacing it and staring at it closely for a few seconds. "What am I going to do?"

Jesse bites his does he approach this? Does he come right out with it and suggest she goes to Shelby's? That's what her grandmother told her to do, after all. That being said, he doubts she wants to follow her instructions right now.

"Can I borrow your phone?" she asks cautiously, breaking him from his internal debate.

"Uh, sure," he says, frowning as he wriggles it out of his back-pocket and hands it over.

"I'm going to call Noah," she explains. He doesn't miss the blush gathering on her cheeks but chooses to ignore it.

"Oh."

Rachel smiles gratefully as she keys in the number and brings the phone to her ear. Jesse thinks maybe he should step outside the car for a moment, give her some privacy. Eventually, he decides to just stay sitting, glaring out of the window instead. There's a stupid bush a few feet away which just looks so stupid.

"Noah?" Rachel's voice asks excitedly after a few seconds. Jesse's scowl deepens; he's never seen such a stupid bush. "Hey- it's me… Yeah, I know… No, I still don't have a phone, I'm just borrowing a friend's." She sighs. "Does it matter?… Okay, yes it is… No, Noah! It's not like that!… I swear, he's just a friend."

If he couldn't literally feel her embarrassed gaze boring into him, Jesse would probably be pulling a worse face. Instead, he tries to calmly school his features as much as he can when that _stupid bush_ is right there just staring at him. He inhales sharply, _what would Luke do?_

"Noah, look, I really need you right now," she pleads. "I _know_ you're at practice… Please… Noah- I found my mom… I don't know, she seems okay but-… Yeah, I know but I don't think she's like your dad… Okay but-… Yeah but-… _Noah!_"

Her tone is enough to make the hairs on the back of Jesse's neck spring up. Again, she's without question Shelby's daughter. He didn't know tones of voice were genetic.

"Look, my grandma kicked me out… Yeah, she- she came home and I was with Jesse and she freaked… Yes, it's his phone… No! I _swear_ nothing happened… No, Noah please… Noah? Noah?"

Jesse watches as she brings the phone away from her ear defeatedly, tears brimming in her big brown eyes again.

"Here," she whispers shyly, handing it back over. "Thank you."

"It's okay, Rach-"

"No it's not!" she snaps. She lets out a frustrated sigh and flings herself back against the leather seat. "He's the _only_ person I have to ask for help and now he's mad at me too."

"No he's not," Jesse says firmly.

"He is! You didn't hear him, Jesse. He was _so_ mad at-"

"That's not what I meant," he interrupts. She looks at him in watery confusion. "I _mean_ he's not the only person who you can ask for help." He swallows, looking down. "You have me."

He peers back up at her when he hears a gentle sob come from her direction.

"Really?" she asks tentatively.

"Of course, Rach. Always."

"Okay," she sniffles, wiping her face down with her hand. "So can I?"

"Can you what?" he frowns.

"Can I really stay with you?"

"Oh…" Jesse bites down on the inside of his cheek. This wasn't where he anticipated this going. He would love nothing more than to be able to grant her that request but his parents barely like _him_ staying at their house, let alone him bringing along a girl he's known for just over a week. Even if he does care about that girl very, _very_ much. "Rach, I…"

"Oh God," she murmurs, bringing up her hands to cover her blushing face. "I'm sorry, I just thought… 'Cause you said…"

_Shit. Quick- what would Luke do? _

Jesse reaches out and lays his hand on Rachel's leg. "Do you trust me?" he asks decisively.

"What?" she asks, peeking out from behind her hands.

"I can help you, but you have to trust me, okay?"

She looks at him unsurely, thinking hard. After a few moments, she must decide either that she _does_ trust him, or that she doesn't really have a better option. She nods once. "Okay."

Jesse smiles weakly. "Okay."

000

Rachel taps her fingers anxiously against the glass window. As they've been driving, the sun has gradually dipped down beyond the horizon, leaving the outside world shrouded under a blanket of grey darkness. She stares into it, squinting, trying to work out exactly where they are. She knows they've gone back past school and that they're now heading towards the more commercial side of town. Maybe he's taking her to some kind of motel where they willingly let fourteen-year-olds stay unsupervised? As she gulps at the prospect, she sure hopes that's not the case. A motel like that _really_ doesn't sound appealing.

Jesse's driving with a determination that makes her uneasy; he clearly knows exactly where he's taking her, but is choosing to leave her none the wiser. Her dads always told her never to accept rides from strangers and, while Jesse's not a stranger, she can't help but think that their stance on accepting rides to unknown locations might be similar. Briefly, she wonders what her mother, what _Shelby_, would have to say about the situation. Rachel doubts that she would be all that bothered. If you're on a streak of twelve years not giving a damn about your kid, why break it now?

Since leaving her mother's office earlier, Rachel has been trying to work out exactly what she thinks about the whole situation. The answer? She just doesn't know. No amount of life lessons with her fathers, nor hours spent in classrooms, or even chess games have prepared her to think through this situation logically. The words, the lingering feelings, the memories of the past week, they've all been running on a constant loop through her mind, chipping away at her like they're trying to sculpt her into a more suitable shape. This must be how those carved chess pieces feel.

All she really knows is that she's tired. She's tired of the lies, of the secrets and of constantly being shut out of conversations that pertain to _her_. She doesn't want to have to sit back and watch people perform for her, showing only what they want her to see. No, Rachel Berry has always been the kind of girl who would like the back-stage tour too. But she doesn't have the energy to get in line for those passes right now; really, she would just like to sleep.

Unfortunately, she's been kicked out of the only bed she's known for the past two years, and she's beginning to doubt whether Jesse actually has one lined up for her at all.

As they pass another row of houses without stopping, Rachel pushes out her frustrations in a prolonged sigh.

"Are you _sure_ you can't just tell me where we're going?" she asks, finally pulling her gaze from the window and looking pointedly across at Jesse.

"Do you not trust me?" he counters.

"You can't answer a question with a question!"

"Sure you can," he smirks, "they just don't teach you about that rule until Sophomore year English classes."

_English classes, English teachers, Shelby Corcoran._

Rachel feels her head drooping down towards her chest dejectedly. It's like every thought she's had since this morning when the woman asked her to come to her office: all roads lead to Shelby Corcoran.

"And would you look at that?" Jesse says airily as he finally flicks on the turn signal and pulls the car over. "You can quit your whining now because we're here."

Rachel shifts upwards in her seat, turning to squint through the window once more. They're right outside a row of large, smart townhouses with neat little flowerbeds out front and dark wooden steps leading up to them. Initially, she feels herself relax a little; this hardly seems like the sort of place from which one might run a human trafficking ring. _Or maybe that's what they _want _you to think…_

"Are you coming?" Jesse's opened the passenger side door open for her and is staring at her expectantly. "Rach?"

She shakes her head and smiles weakly. "Yeah, sorry."

He grabs her hand and begins to drag her towards one of the houses. There's nine of them in total. The one Jesse's taking her towards in three in from the left. Rachel's not sure whether this means anything. Should that mean something?

She finds her feet refusing to cooperate at the bottom of the steps. It's not their fault, they just can't remember how to climb them. She focuses on eyes on them, trying to reassure them that it's going to be okay. Since that thought isn't exactly clear in the rest of her, she's not doing a very good job.

Finding his hand suddenly pulling dead weight, Jesse stops on the second step and turns back to face her.

"Hey," he says, waiting for her to look back at him. When she does, she sees he's wearing a small, reassuring grin. "I promise it's all going to be okay."

Rachel's lost track of how many times she's heard those words so far today. _Too many,_ she decides. Nobody ever says that unless there's something categorically 'not okay' already going on.

"Come on." He takes a stronger hold on her arm and guides her up towards the front door.

It's maybe eight-feet tall, three-feet wide, though it's hard for Rachel to be sure given the porch light to this house is off. Everything she can see relies on the neighbour's lights or the gaudy yellow streetlight by Jesse's car.

She hears Jesse knock hard on the door several times with one hand while his other is conducting a stabbing assault on the doorbell. Rachel frowns, looking down at her own hands. Wasn't he holding one? She doesn't remember him letting go of her. That's probably for the best, though; if she knew, she might have fallen down at the loss of contact.

It seems to take an eternity, or at least, since Rachel started counting, enough time for Jesse to knock thirteen times. She's sure that can't be doing any favours for the mood of the person on the other side of the door.

The door finally swings open, sending bright light and muffled music spilling out onto the porch. It's not this, though, which causes Rachel to take an involuntary step back into the shadows. Rather, it's the woman silhouetted in the doorway.

"I thought we agreed on no more than ten knocks, Jess," she says coldly, "anymore than that is rude. Just like it's also _rude_ to abduct my kid from school and then refuse to answer your phone."

Jesse slouches in exasperation before grabbing Rachel's arm and dragging her forwards. "Consider her unabducted."

Rachel knows she looks similar to her mother, but she's sure the two of them must appear even more uncanny now. Each meets the other's eyes wearing a matching expression of pure shock: eyes widened, full lips parted, dark eyebrows raised.

"_Rachel_," Shelby breathes.

All Rachel can bring herself to do is to just keep staring.

That same thought occurs to her once more, that it seems odd for any member of Vocal Adrenaline to ever refer to this woman as the 'Ice Queen'. Standing in her doorway in baggy sweatpants and a cotton t-shirt, Shelby Corcoran lacks all the immediate poise and authority that her school clothes denote. Her long hair is still down, but it looks tousled now and any trace of makeup is gone from her startled face.

She looks… _human_? The fact that this is a surprising notion seems strange to Rachel. But it's true. The woman is no longer an authoritative teacher or the long-awaited mother, she's just someone wearing odd fuzzy socks who's beginning to shiver in the cool evening air.

No, Shelby Corcoran may not be an 'Ice Queen', but as her eyes pierce into Rachel, the girl can't shake the feeling that she's on the dangerous side of the chess board now.

* * *

_**A/N- Hi! Hope you enjoyed the update! Shelby sends her apologies for no overdramatic inner monologue this time, but she's saving herself for the next one ;) Expect drama, shouting, and an in-person introduction... **_

_**As always- would love to hear your thoughts! They really do mean the world to me. xo**_


	10. I Should Tell You- Part I

Shelby, to put it lightly, is having a rather shit evening. Ever since Rachel stormed out of her office earlier that afternoon, she's felt as though someone has smashed open her skull and scattered little pieces of her brain here, there and everywhere.

After quickly rearranging her missed appointment with Marty for Sunday afternoon, she had hurried after her daughter, determined to at least get Rachel speaking cordially to her again before the weekend makes an unwelcome appearance and the girl is left to marinate in her anger for two days. She'd stepped outside the door just in time to catch sleeked brown hair and a mop of curls disappearing around the corner and out of the auditorium wing. Her first instinct had been, of course, to chase after them and pry them apart. Rationality, however, had quickly entered stage-left and advised her that this wasn't the best course of action.

Sure, the sight of Jesse's arm wrapped around her baby girl's shoulders was enough to ignite a fiery rage deep in her stomach, but she was painfully aware of the fact that over the past week he has offered a lot more comfort to Rachel than she has been able to. With a few deep breaths, she decided that she would allow him to temper her daughter's anger before she tried to speak to her again.

Besides, she had some tempering of her own to do. How, _how the hell_, had they gone from hugs, kisses and adulation to phones being smacked down into shaking palms and slamming doors? While Shelby was sitting in her office, staring once more at an empty space her daughter had occupied, she instinctively began to rub a throbbing tension out from her neck.

Whiplash.

The whole situation was just one, big case of whiplash.

When the bell rang signifying the end of lunch, Shelby had hurried through the school hallways, pushing past students who would rather still be gossiping in the cafeteria, to the geography classroom. She'd looked over Rachel's file so intimately that her timetable was seared into the backs of her corneas. All she had to do was wait for her daughter to make an appearance at her first class of the afternoon and politely ask to resume their conversation under the guise of pressing Vocal Adrenaline business. Rachel wouldn't buy it, obviously, but Shelby was hoping that her patent anxiety about stepping out of line at school would be enough to encourage her to follow orders.

Playing on her kid's insecurities? Check. But she had to brush off the voices that were screaming what a terrible mother she was. It was necessary. She _had_ to do this. She _could _do this.

What she hadn't anticipated, though, was the fact that Rachel was one step ahead of her; the girl never showed. A quick trip to Jesse's class also revealed his absence. While less surprising, she wasn't stupid enough to fail to connect the dots.

Shelby spent the rest of the afternoon frantically calling Jesse at any given opportunity only to be met with his voicemail. The greeting message, which is rather smug at the best of times, soon became enough for her to question, once again, just how wrong it would be to slap some sense into the boy.

_'This is Jesse. Jesse St. James. If I'm not answering your call, I'm probably doing something better. If you think you have something to say which might interest me, leave a message. If not, this is your cue to exit.'_

She frankly didn't care whether her increasingly threatening voicemails would be deemed 'interesting', she just wanted to know where the hell he had taken her daughter.

When she finally arrived back at home that afternoon, she set her 'Anger Is A Legitimate Emotion' playlist to go in every room of her house, flung off her work clothes in exchange for sweats and a t-shirt and began to pace around, desperately trying to expend some of her pent-up energy. It wasn't long before she had a large glass of Chardonnay in her hand while doing so.

She didn't, _wouldn't, _let herself cry. Or feel any kind of sadness at all, really. No, anger, she has decided, is a much more appropriate emotion for the whole situation.

So why, now, is she standing out on her front porch feeling everything, _anything_, but anger. Once again, Rachel has somehow slipped right in front of her without expectation, without any kind of warning which would allow her to prepare an adequate response. At first, Shelby simply experiences wave after wave of confusion and shock: they come crashing down onto her in the form of icy gusts of wind fresh from the fall evening. How is Rachel standing at her front door? _Why _is Rachel standing at her front door?

The 'how', she allows herself to presume after a few seconds of stunned silence, is explainable; the usual smug grin on Jesse's face and his proclamation of returning her daughter can answer that.

The prodigal daughter has returned, but Shelby isn't sure whether she has a fatted calf to offer.

She quickly corrects her thoughts: none of that is right. It's not _Rachel_ who is the prodigal child, returning home after so many years of fraught separation. If anyone must fill that role in the whole equation, it's Shelby who should take to the stage. A disappearance followed by years of silence, excess and unmeditated self-sabotage? It's one audition she's sure to nail.

Her daughter, however, doesn't look wanton or imprudent at all; she merely looks equally as bewildered as her mother. And Shelby doesn't miss the red puffiness around her brown eyes either.

This, of course, brings her right back to the 'why'. Why is Rachel here? Or, more specifically, why has Jesse brought her here? What's happened since the girl left her office? She needs answers to fill up the cavernous wasteland inside her.

But Shelby can't articulate any of that. So, instead, she just allows the one word that has dominated her thoughts so much over the past eight days, so much over the last fourteen years, to fall carelessly from her lips.

"_Rachel_."

The breathy sound dangles in the thick air around them for just a second before it's carried away by another cold blast of wind, fluttering away from the porch like a fallen leaf.

Rachel's wearing an expression that makes her look as if someone's just knocked all the air out of her. Or, at least, Shelby can feel her own face contorted into a matching look, and that's exactly how she feels. The girl holds it for a short moment longer before her brow furrows and she turns shakily towards Jesse, who still looks far too proud of himself.

"Why did you bring me here?" she whispers, glancing between the boy and Shelby. "How did you...?"

Shelby thinks maybe she should intervene. She _knows_ she should intervene. As she's been telling herself since she was sixteen-years-old and holding onto a plastic stick that was determined to drastically alter the course of her life, she's the fucking adult here. Suddenly, however, she feels just as juvenile as she had done then.

Jesse looks puzzled too now. "Rach," he says softly, "she's your mom. She can help you."

It takes a second for Rachel to process this, her head still swinging back and forth between the other two occupants of the porch like she's watching a slow, unsteady tennis match.

"Y-you told him?" she finally asks Shelby, eyes flooded with betrayal. "You told _him_ and you didn't tell me?"

"I…"

The lacklustre syllable is all Shelby can get out. Her mouth is too dry again but she knows she can't blame it on the Chardonnay.

"She didn't really mean to tell me," Jesse supplies hastily, stepping forward to place an arm around Rachel's shoulders. The girl immediately scuttles backwards. "Rach, honestly, I think it just sort of slipped out. Right, Shelby?"

"_'Slipped out_'?" Rachel repeats incredulously before Shelby can reply. She takes a deep breath which shudders in her chest then faces Jesse. "You need to take me somewhere else."

"What? Why?"

"I can't be here," she whispers.

For a split-second, she sends a fleeting look up to her mother. Shelby's sure she sees the slightest hint of an invitation to negate that, a plea burning in the depths of her daughter's eyes. But her mouth is still too dry and then the chill breeze has made that flame flicker out; brown eyes return to the safety of the wooden floor.

"But she's your _mom_," Jesse points out stubbornly. "She'll be able to help you. She _loves_ you, Rachel!"

"Stop it," the girl says with a quiet tenacity. "Please, just take me somewhere else."

"No, Rach-"

"Jesse!" she interrupts desperately. "Just… _please_. I don't want to be here. _She _doesn't want me here."

And it's at this statement, coupled with the defeated look on the girl's face as she peers back up at her mother, that Shelby finally swallows and forces her voice out.

"I _do_ want you here, baby."

She's still not sure _why_ Rachel's here, or why she's asking for Jesse to be taking her anywhere, but she does know that she can't just stand by and watch her leave.

"I'm not your baby!" Rachel snaps, her face contorting in on itself. "_Why_? Why would you tell him and not me?"

"I didn't mean to," Shelby offers weakly. Pathetically. Stupidly. She's too busy lingering over the first part of Rachel's outburst. _You _are_ my baby_.

Rachel shakes her head, brushing off the meaningless words. She turns to Jesse. "And _you_… I thought we were friends, Jesse."

"We _are_ friends!" he insists. "I'm trying to help you!"

"No," she says bitterly. "If you wanted to help me then you would have just told me. If… If either of you really cared about me then you would have just told me."

"Rach, I wanted to," Shelby says, taking a step out onto the porch towards the girl. The cold wood stings against her socked feet. ""You have to believe me. But I just… I didn't know how. I couldn't just… Your dads…"

"My dads are dead," Rachel says coldly.

"Wait- they're really dead?" Jesse asks, looking between the two.

"You didn't tell him that bit?" Rachel questions sharply. Well, Shelby's sure it's meant to be sharp, to cut at her again, but the tremor in the girl's voice betrays her emotions.

"No, I didn't."

"Rachel, I'm so sorry," Jesse says sincerely. Any trace of smugness has been wiped off his face, replaced by a brow furrowed deep with sympathy. He glances back up at the older woman. "Shelby, I- I'm sorry for your loss. Both of you."

Shelby swings her eyes shut in frustration. _That's not going to go down well_.

And it doesn't.

"Why are you sorry for _her_?" Rachel asks angrily. "Nothing happened to _her_."

"She was close with them too," Jesse says.

_Intervene_.

"Jess-"

"No!" Rachel cries, sending him an outraged look. "They weren't _her_ dads! They were _my_ dads! And… and…" As she trails off, Shelby can see the anger draining from her face, raw sadness overtaking it. "And now they're gone… They're dead and I… I don't have anywhere to go. I don't have…"

Each word that leaves her daughter's mouth cuts into her. Shelby can feel blood oozing down out of her t-shirt and trickling across her skin. It lands with muted thuds onto the porch floor and the loss of it from her body makes her head spin. She's only vaguely aware of the argument playing out before her.

"- right here, Rach."

"No, I can't. She doesn't want me here. I don't want to be here."

"But why not? Your mom _does_ want you here and you can't go back there anyway."

"Take me somewhere else then!"

"I'm not going to do that when you're right here- exactly where you belong!"

"I don't belong here! I don't belong anywhere!"

Shelby's t-shirt is soaked through with blood now. She's sure if she looked down that she would see bright scarlet stains of guilt on the white-fabric. Cold water: that's the only thing that can properly get blood out of clothes. She knows that. Cold water can get blood out of pink sheets and yellow dresses too.

"You _have_ to stay here!"

"You don't get to tell me what to do, Jesse. And if you're not going to take me anywhere else, then I'll just take myself!"

Rachel turns to take a step back down the stairs and Shelby instinctively follows. No longer under the shelter of the gable roof, she feels a drop of cold water run down her arm. A glance up at the sky tells her it's beginning to spit down with rain and, when she looks down at herself, there's no blood.

There's no blood but it's raining and Rachel is walking away.

"Jess," she chokes out, but the boy is already a step ahead of her.

He catches Rachel on the third step down, taking a firm grip on her arm and attempting to pull her back towards the house.

"Get _off_ me!" she shouts, spinning back and trying to reclaim control over her body.

Shivering in the doorway, Shelby flinches.

_"What are you doing? Get off me!" she shouted, trying to push against the heavy weight of the man pressing her into the bed. One hand held her firmly down by the chest while the other reached for the dirty socks discarded on her end table. _

_Seven years later, she made the same protest to another man guiding her towards a bed. This time, it was a man who wanted nothing but the best for her; that didn't seem to matter. Her ears had rung with the sound of flesh on flesh, the echoes of the slap reverberating around the Berry's guest bedroom. _

Her ears are still ringing with it.

Shelby forces her eyes back open, unaware as to when they had even closed, but she can still hear it, the sound of flesh on flesh. Then, she sees Jesse cradling his cheek and Rachel standing on the step below him, her eyes widened in horror and hand still dangling mid-air where it had lost its momentum from the blow.

"You just hit me," Jesse says, pulling his hand away and inspecting it as if he's looking for blood.

"Jesse, I'm so-"

"No, you just hit me! Wh-what the hell, Rachel? I'm trying to _help_ you!"

Rachel's posture tightens, her hand returning stiffly to her side. "I didn't _ask_ for your help!"

"You still don't get to hit me!"

"You were grabbing me!"

_Intervene._

"You know what, I'm not doing this!"

"Rachel, you can't just leave!"

"Watch me!"

Shelby's merely observing helplessly as Rachel begins to storm down the steps with Jesse following closely behind her. She can barely make sense of her thoughts over the sound of teenage bickering. Wait- teenage bickering?

"Where are you going to go?"

She can work with teenage bickering.

"Anywhere away from here!"

"That's _enough_," Shelby shouts, taking a few strides out onto the porch. At the sound of her stern voice, both teenagers turn to face her. They each look bewildered that she, who has so far simply been a weak observer of most of this interaction, has finally found her voice. "Both of you, inside now."

Shelby steps further forward until she's standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at the pair of them. They glance nervously at each other, neither of them making any move to head back towards the house. It's raining more heavily now, and Shelby knows she needs to move this conversation inside quickly.

"We're not doing this out on the porch," Shelby continues firmly. "Both of you get inside." Another hesitant beat passes in which Shelby simply arches an eyebrow, just as she does whenever her students aren't immediately co-operating. "Now."

To Shelby's surprise, it's Rachel who concedes defeat first, slumping her shoulders slightly as she climbs up past Jesse and moves back onto the porch. The boy soon follows, looking at her retreating form in confusion.

"Come on," Shelby tells her daughter, more softly now, cocking her head towards the still open front door. "Let's go inside so we can talk."

Rachel nods and moves towards the door. Once she's under the cover it offers, she stops, folds her arms protectively over her chest, and eyes her mother.

"I still don't want to be here," she says.

"I know," Shelby replies. Rachel accepts that with a curt nod and heads through into the entrance hallway. Shelby then turns her attention to Jesse, who is still clutching at his reddened cheek. "Let's go, Jess."

When they're finally all inside, Shelby pushes the door shut and ensures that she's twisted the lock back into place. Using this action to face away from the two kids, she gives herself what might be the world's shortest pep-talk.

_You can do this. You _have _to do this. One step at a time._

Turning back to face them, she's all business: the embodiment of the nationally acclaimed show choir coach.

"Jess, kitchen," she directs with a point to the first door on the left. "Sit down and wait for me please."

"Bu-"

"_Now_." His posture slackens and he walks through the door, muttering under his breath. Shelby isn't quite sure why he's so moody, but she can deal with that later. For now, she turns to her daughter, who is rubbing her hands over the damp sleeves of her thin sweater. She gestures down the hallway. "Come with me."

"Where are we going?" Rachel asks suspiciously.

"The living room?" It comes out like a question, asking why Rachel seems so against walking any further into the house.

"I'm not staying," the girl says.

Shelby matches her defensive stance, folding her own arms. "Okay. Well I'd still like you to go into there for now."

"But I'm not staying."

"Did I say you were?" Shelby asks. "I just want you to sit down, take a breather and let me at least get you some warm clothes."

Rachel's stony face falters momentarily, her lip quivering a little before she shakes her head. "I shouldn't have come in. I want to go."

As she tries to step back towards the door, Shelby catches the top of her arm in her hand.

"I know you're mad at me and that you're confused," she says, lowering her voice so that Jesse won't be able to hear from where he's surely trying to eavesdrop a few feet away, "but I'm not going to let you go out there with nowhere to go. We need to talk about all of this."

"You don't even know what's going on!" Rachel fires back, trying to yank her arm out of Shelby's tight grasp. "Why do you even care?"

"Like I said, you are my daughter and I love you."

"You _don't_ love me!"

With that, Rachel breaks away and begins to twist at the lock on the door. Shelby has to force herself to maintain her composure, to block out her emotions and deal with this.

"Rachel, if you take one step out that door, I will call the police."

Those aren't the words she was expecting to come out of her mouth. From the way Rachel freezes where she's standing, it's clear _she_ wasn't expecting them either.

She turns back to her mother, frowning deeply. "What?"

Shelby steps back to her, taking a firm grip on her arm again. "If you leave here, I will call the police and have you reported as a vulnerable runaway. I don't know what will happen to you then." The way that Rachel's face falls is enough to break her heart once more, but if this is what it takes to keep her here and safe, Shelby is more than happy to do that. "I need to make sure that you're okay, so I need you to come and sit down."

"Why do you care so much now?" Rachel asks. "You didn't care about where I was before."

Through her stubborn frown, Shelby's sure she can make out a small twinge of hope, or, at least, something more than pure anger. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking.

"Because now you're here and I'm here and it's my job to care. Come on."

She begins to lead Rachel down the hallway and into the living room. Once there, she sits her down on one of the cream couches and hovers over her for a moment, watching her closely. Rachel, however, is refusing to meet her gaze, staring straight ahead at the wall opposite her.

"I'm going to get you a dry sweater and make you a hot drink, okay?" Shelby says as Rachel shivers slightly.

"Oh, another sweater?" Rachel questions. "Goody. Does that mean you're going to disappear for another twelve years after?"

Shelby doesn't reply for a moment. She folds her arms again as if that will somehow protect her from the blows lurking in Rachel's words. Not that she deserves any relief from them.

"I need you to promise me that you'll stay here."

Rachel finally meets her eyes in a glare. "Well you're not giving me much choice, are you?"

"No," Shelby agrees, "I'm not."

Rachel flicks her stare back to the wall and shifts her weight more deeply into the couch with a _humph_. Of course Shelby wishes that she wouldn't look so distressed at being here, she wishes that she didn't have to threaten her own daughter with law enforcement to keep her in the house, but even that is better than the cutting anxiety of the alternative. If Rachel were to leave now and be all alone in the outside world, it may well be the straw that breaks the camel's back.

Shelby nods tightly and starts to leave the room. Before she's reached the door, she stops, however, and walks back to her daughter, compelled by some innate maternal magnetism. _She can't get any more mad at you than she already is_.

She bends down and kisses the top of Rachel's head, cupping her cheek gently. "I love you so much and I'm glad you're here."

Without waiting for Rachel's inevitable rejection of her comforts, she leaves the room and heads upstairs. As she rifles through her closet for a sweatshirt to give to Rachel, she takes a few shuddering breaths in an attempt to settle the nerves stampeding through her body. She _cannot_ fall apart right now. There are two kids downstairs who need her to be strong and, if she can't manage to get it together for herself, she sure as hell has to do it for them. With a dark green OSU hoodie tucked under one arm, she's bracing herself to go back down and face the music when a thought occurs to her. In a second, she's back in her closet, pushing aside shoes she hasn't worn for years in a search for an old cardboard box.

When she finds it, she doesn't allow herself to peer in at the contents. Not yet. She's taking things one step at a time, and this will find its place later. She shoves the hoodie on top and heads back downstairs before she can talk herself out of it.

"Here you go," she says to Rachel as she returns to the living room. The girl doesn't look like she's moved a single muscle since Shelby left, still sitting stiffly and looking like she would rather be anywhere else in the world. "It'll be a little big, I think, but at least it's warm and dry."

Rachel stares angrily at the hoodie Shelby's holding out to her before finally relenting and accepting it. She drapes it across her lap.

"Thanks," she mutters, eyes not leaving the green fabric.

"No problem," Shelby replies. "I'll get you some sweats or something to change into later bu-"

"I'm not staying," Rachel repeats.

Shelby sighs. "Right, okay. But for now, I'm going to go make sure that Jess is okay-"

"-Of _course_ you are-"

"-and I'd like you to change into that. I can throw your sweater into the dryer for you."

"You can't put this material in the dryer, it'll shrink."

Shelby presses her lips together, willing her rising frustration to stay firmly _inside_ her body.

"That's fine. I'll hang it somewhere it can air dry then, okay?" Rachel nods her approval tersely. "Great. Now, green tea or chamomile?"

"What?"

"I'm making you a hot drink and it's too late for you to be having coffee," Shelby says, ignoring Rachel's eye roll. "So, green tea or chamomile?"

"Green."

"Lovely."

Shelby glances down at the box still tucked under her arm. A part of her knows that this will probably make things even more tense, but another part is sure that that's not possible. Rachel's frosty attitude, while justifiable, isn't exactly laying the path for the conversation she knows they need to have.

"Do- Can you…" Dropping the tough act for a moment, she's suddenly finding it a lot harder to string together a sentence. "This is a box-"

"Yeah, I can see that."

"_Rachel_," she snaps in exasperation. She regrets it when Rachel's glare hardens and she shuts her eyes to take a deep breath. "I want to show you some of the things in it so just… While I'm dealing with Jesse, feel free to have a look, okay?"

Her tone is far too casual for the enormity of what she's doing. She's only ever shared things in that box with Luke, and even he didn't see the entirety of it. But it seems only right that Rachel should get to, it's about her after all.

Shelby places it carefully down on the table in front of her daughter like it could shatter at any moment. She then sends Rachel a tentative smile.

"I'll be back in a couple of minutes and then we're going to talk."

Leaving no room for argument, she strides towards the sliding door which connects the living room to the kitchen and enters to find Jesse sitting on one of the bar stools. He's slumped over, pouting and still holding his face.

"Get over it, she didn't hit you that hard," Shelby says as she heads towards the cabinet where the mugs are kept. She pulls one out and slings a teabag into it before placing it on the drip tray of her Keurig and setting the machine to go.

She turns to see Jesse pouting even more deeply. "She _hit_ me. I got hit by a _girl_."

"Don't be misogynistic, Jess," Shelby smirks at his disparaging tone. She moves towards him, batting his hand away and cupping his face to inspect the barely-there damage.

"I'm not being misogynistic," he protests, scowling. Shelby lifts a skeptical eyebrow before walking towards the fridge-freezer. She's sure that Rachel hasn't done too much damage to Jesse's face, but she thinks that maybe an ice-pack is just what he needs to soothe his bruised ego. "I just can't believe she hit me. I was only trying to help."

Shelby glances back at the boy over her shoulder from where she's crouched down and rummaging for the pack amongst the frozen vegetables. There's a helplessness, a sadness, in his tone which doesn't sit well with her.

"I know you were," she says softly, sending him a reassuring smile. She extracts the ice-pack and hands it over to him, watching him wince as he presses it against his face.

"It's cold," he complains.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I think I've misplaced my warm ice-pack." Ignoring yet another teenage eye roll, she leans down over the counter and takes his hand into hers. "Thank you for bringing her here."

"S'okay," Jesse says. "I… I don't know. I thought she would be happy to be here, like even if she's mad at you, it's gotta be better than being _there_, you know?"

Shelby frowns. "What exactly happened this afternoon? Because I went to find you in your afternoon classes only to discover that you'd both decided not to attend?" Jesse casts his eyes downwards and shifts on the stool. "Jess?"

"It was Rachel's idea," he admits, gaze trained on his boots.

"Really?"

His eyes shoot back up. "What?" he asks defensively. "You think I would actually drag your kid out of school against her will?"

"No," Shelby sighs, squeezing his hand. _That's just easier to believe than the fact that she was so desperate to get away from me that she would skip_. "No, of course not. So you left school, and then what?"

Jesse fills her in on the details of that afternoon, culminating in Linda walking in on them in Rachel's bedroom. Somewhere along the way, Shelby has let go out her grip on Jesse's hand, fearing that she was beginning to crush it with her frustrations. She can't blame them, really. If someone had pissed her off like when she was a teenager, her actions would probably have been worse. The proof of that is scowling on a couch in the next room.

"But we weren't _doing_ anything. I swear, Shelby," Jesse says, eyeing her warily. "We were honestly just listening to music and talking. I just wanted to make sure that she was okay."

Shelby allows herself small smile; he really can be a good kid when he wants to be.

"But Rachel's grandma didn't think so?"

"No," Jesse confirms. He shakes his head and looks downwards. "She just got _so_ mad at Rachel. Like _so _mad. And Rachel looked so scared. She tried to kick me out but I waited downstairs, 'cause I was worried, you know?" He looks to Shelby for approval and she nods. "So then they had this big argument that was… Well, it was kind of about you."

A swarm of guilt plagues her stomach as she lets out a shaky breath. That's just brilliant. Yet another thing that's all her fault and yet another reason for Rachel to resent her. Even without being there, she's managed to wreak havoc.

"Um," Jesse continues when he realises that he probably isn't getting a response anytime soon, "and then she basically said that Rachel had to leave. And I didn't know what to do, but I didn't want to make Rachel mad by phoning you, or whatever, so I just thought that I would bring her here… I mean, I thought she'd be happy." He looks up at her, wide-eyed and despondent. "But now she's just mad at me, isn't she?"

Shelby bites her lip. "To be honest, Jess, I think she's just confused and angry about everything."

"But surely she can see that being here is better than being there, right? Her grandma literally threw her out on the streets." That makes the guilt in Shelby's stomach squirm with the force of a punch. "But you're already here saying that she needs to stay here… I just… I don't understand. Why doesn't she want to be here? With you?"

Shelby's granted a little reprieve from the horrible feelings churning through her at Jesse's words. At least there's someone who can see a little good in her, even if it all seems horribly misguided. She reaches up to guide the ice-pack away from his face. His skin is flushed, but that's probably more to do with the cold; she doubts it will even bruise now.

"I've hurt her a lot," she says evenly. "A lot of people have. And I'm so sorry that I've made you get caught up in the middle of all of this."

"I don't mind," he insists. "I just wish she wasn't mad at me. I was only trying to help."

"I know," she tells him. "It's just a complicated situation and she's going through a lot right now."

"Yeah, I get that but…" he trails off, pulling his lips over to one side in concerned thought.

Another ripple of guilt spills through Shelby's body. She knows she's completely fucked up this situation. Once again, she's being forced to face the fact that she should _never_ have dragged Jesse into this. He's just a kid, a kid who now looks like he's bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders because of her inability to ever think through her actions. Knowing apologies won't do any good at this point, she simply cups his face and uses her thumb to wipe off the condensation left there.

"Thank you for doing the right thing and bringing her here," she says. In all honesty, she's not sure whether it was the right thing, but if she can't think of a better alternative, how can she expect Jesse to have done so? He winces as her thumb makes contact with the top of his cheekbone. "Sorry. Does it still hurt?"

"A bit," he grumbles, pulling his face out of her grasp. "Still can't believe I got hit by a girl."

Shelby jets out her bottom lip. "My poor baby," she coos. "Would you like me to kiss it all better for you?" She puckers her lips dramatically and leans towards him.

In return, he smacks her head away. "Get away from me, you weirdo."

Finally, he shoots her the cheeky grin that helps to drive away some of her worry.

"Are you going to be okay getting home?" she asks, incredibly conscious of the fact that she's been in here a while, leaving Rachel to stew in the next room. He breaks eye-contact and tilts his head; the tell-tale signs that he's about to lie to her. "What is it?"

"I'm supposed to be going out tonight."

"A party?" she guesses.

"Well, it's more of a gathering, really," Jesse says, causing Shelby to smirk. She can remember using those technicalities in her youth. "Just a few of us at Cami's house."

"So this is a VA party at Cami's?"

"It's _not_ a party!" Jesse whines.

Shelby raises her hands in defence. "Sorry- a VA _gathering_?"

"Yeah. Just casual, low-key."

"Okay," Shelby says slowly. "Well I'm not going to say you can't go-"

"I don't remember asking for your permission anyways."

She shoots him a stern glare. "But, I will ask that you're sensible and that you use my Uber account if you need to. No drinking and driving. Under _any_ circumstances. That goes for all of you, got it?"

"Got it," he parrots dutifully as they walk back out towards the entrance hallway. "So you're saying that I should tell everyone we can charge Ubers to you tonight?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll send out my Venmo on the group email now," she deadpans. "I'll start charging interest, get a nice little business running."

"A business that relies on the intoxication of your students?" Jesse grins. "You'll be up for tenure any day now."

Shelby shoves him away from the door a little too forcefully when she goes to unlock it. As the cold wind enters the hallway once more, she turns to him and pulls him into a close hug.

"Thank you again, Jess," she whispers, squeezing him tightly. Drawing away, she reaches up to ruffle his hair fondly, inwardly hating the fact that he's got a good few inches on her when she's not wearing her heels. "Text me when you get to Cami's and be safe tonight please."

"Yes, ma'am," he replies. "And you be safe too- Rachel's got a good backhand on her."

"I will," she promises dryly. "Now get out of here and go have fun."

After waiting to make sure he's safe in his car and on his way to go and shake off some of the stress of the day, she retreats back into the house. For her, the stress is only just beginning. She collects the mug of steaming tea from the kitchen and braces herself outside the door to the living room as if she's gearing up for a fight. With a final short exhale of breath, she realises this may well be the most important 'fight' of her life.

"Hey," she calls softly, entering the room and heading towards the couches. Rachel doesn't even look up and, at first, Shelby's worried that she's somehow become even more angry in the ten minutes that have passed.

When she does eventually get a look at her daughter, she realises this might have been the better outcome.

Instead, Rachel is hunched over the wooden coffee table, running her hands over the pictures and pieces of paper which are usually confined in the box in Shelby's closet. She has the large sleeves of the green hoodie pulled over the heels of her hands and there are tear tracks staining her cheeks.

"Oh, sweetheart," Shelby murmurs.

She immediately dumps the mug on the table atop some discarded lesson plans and moves to sit beside Rachel, pulling her in close. In her emotional state, it's like the girl can't the energy to fight her away; she allows herself to be pulled into her mother's chest and emits a choking sob. Shelby, of course, is already mentally berating herself for thinking that leaving Rachel alone with these items was a good idea. In her life, many a day has passed where she thought she couldn't possibly have made more mistakes if she'd tried, but this one is certainly giving her a run for her money.

"I just don't understand," Rachel whimpers, bringing her hand up to her face and wiping at it roughly. "If there was all of this, then why… Why would you leave?"

Her big brown eyes meet Shelby's for a moment before they're drawn back to the cluttered table. Shelby follows her gaze, drinking in the sight of the reminders of a life she doesn't dare to think on much. Staring up at her from all directions is her own, usually smiling, face. Her smile next to baby Rachel's toothless grin or in between Hiram and Leroy's.

She doesn't speak for a while and, when she does, her voice sounds unexpectedly hoarse. "I didn't show you these to upset you," she says. It sounds so pathetic when accompanied by Rachel's ongoing sniffles. "I guess I just wanted you to see that I do love you, I've always loved you."

"But you left," Rachel says.

"I know." All day, she's been thinking about how she can possibly begin to justify that. So many hours of wondering and the only solution she's come up with is that there really isn't one. "I left and I am so sorry, Rachel. I know that doesn't even come close to giving you the explanation you deserve but…"

_But it's the only thing I can come up with to say._

_But it's my biggest regret and I've spent every moment since hating myself for that decision. _

_But I love you and I need you so badly so you have to forgive me. _

"But I truly thought I was doing the right thing at the time." Rachel stares up at her, her desperate expression asking the silent question: _why?_ "I… I wasn't in the right place to be a mother, or at least, I thought I wasn't. And I am honestly, truly so sorry that that was the case. I just… every time I saw you it hurt me so much, honey. And that's not because I didn't love you or that you did anything wrong. It hurt because I was so scared that I was making your life worse by being in it."

"B-but…" Rachel looks down at all the pictures again. "You look so happy, _we_ look so happy… What happened?" She shifts slightly, pulling away from Shelby and looking back at her expectantly.

Shelby presses her lips together and glances up towards the ceiling. "Everything… Nothing… It was so hard, Rach. I didn-"

"Hard?" Rachel asks, a deep frown forming. "It was too hard so you just… gave up?"

_Yes_.

_No_.

"I genuinely thought that things would be better for you if I wasn't there," is all Shelby can come up with. It doesn't seem to appease Rachel who simply scowls even more deeply. "But I didn't just leave you. I would never have… You had your dads…"

"For a while," Rachel counters, her eyes filling with tears once more. "You couldn't have at least stayed in touch? I _needed_ you. I- I've been all by myself and you were right here."

"I didn't know, Rachel," Shelby implores, taking her daughter's hands in her own. "I know I should have…" She swallows hard, willing all the memories of times she ignored Hiram and Leroy's attempts to reach out to her to leave her mind. "I should have kept in contact. If not with you, then with your dads. But I swear, I didn't know that anything had happened. If I had… If you had wanted me there when it happened, when the lawyers asked you then-"

"You're blaming me?" Rachel asks, scooting further backwards.

"No, of course not."

"But you are- you're saying it's _my_ fault that I believed what Grandma told me? That you didn't want me."

"No, Rach-"

"What was I supposed to think?" the girl cries. "You'd left and you never reached out and… And it was all my…" Another sob breaks through her but, as Shelby leans towards her, she jerks away again. "I didn't know what to do, or to think. Dad and Daddy died."

The tears are running in thick streams down her face now, but she's located herself firmly out of Shelby's grasp. The woman bites down hard on the inside of her cheek in a feeble attempt to stop her own tears. This is _all_ her fault and she has no idea how she's supposed to rectify any of it.

Eventually, she takes a deep breath and moves in closer to the girl. Rachel meets her eyes, lip trembling and shoulders shaking, and there's nothing Shelby can do to stop the instinct which tells her to hug her daughter.

"I'm so sorry," she mutters over and over again, running her hands over Rachel's back and through her hair greedily. Somehow, she doesn't think she'll get the opportunity to hold her baby like this again any time soon. When Rachel finally pulls away, Shelby cups her face firmly. "I am _so _sorry, Rachel. I know you may not believe that right now, but I promise you that I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you."

"I do," Rachel sniffles, giving a small nod.

Shelby frowns. "Do what?"

"I do believe you, that you're sorry," she says. "But I don't think I can forgive you."

A sad smile overtakes Shelby's lips. This is better than nothing, right?

"That's so okay, Star," she whispers. When Rachel flinches at the name, Shelby starts up the internal condemnation once more. She hadn't even meant for it to slip out.

"Only my dads called me that," Rachel says, more to herself than to her mother.

Still, Shelby nods. It hurts, though, to hear Rachel assert that so clearly. Subconsciously, Shelby's eyes drift towards the little booklet of sonograms lying among the pictures; somewhere in there is the one that started it all.

* * *

_Fourteen Years Ago_

The edges of the small scrap of paper fluttered in the December breeze, but Shelby maintained a firm grip on it. Her eyes were roaming over every inch of it, trying to drink in every little grainy detail. She didn't know exactly what she was searching for, proof maybe? A confirmation that this was all real? Surely the fact that her stomach still felt a little slimy from the ultrasound gel would be enough to do that? But somehow, looking at something physical still made the whole situation feel a lot more real.

This was happening. She was going to have a baby.

"Lemme see again!" Cassie said, grabbing the paper right out of her clutches as she strode past her friend. She came to a halt a few steps further forward on the street, squinting down at it. "Yeah, I still just can't see it."

Shelby rolled her eyes and hurried after her. She snatched the paper back and glared at the blonde.

"It's right there," she said, pointing out the blob at the bottom of the picture. "It's just facing a weird way, I think." She was pretty sure he technician had said something like that, but she'd been too wrapped up in the sound of her baby's heartbeat to pay too much attention. She just couldn't get over the fact that there were currently _two _heartbeats pulsing in her body.

Cassie tilted her head round to the left. "You're having a weird looking baby, Shelbs."

"No I'm not," Shelby defended. "Look," her finger traced a blurry line of white, "I think that's a leg… And that might be another leg there."

"Ha!" Cassie laughed. "It's already spreading its legs, just like its mama."

After everything that had happened in the past couple of weeks, that one hit a bit too close to home. Shelby pulled the scan closely in towards her and glared at her friend. She could feel tears threatening to make an appearance and, once again, cursed these stupid pregnancy hormones for making her so fucking emotional.

"Why do you have to be such a bitch?" she snapped, stalking away from Cassie and hurrying towards the bus-stop.

"Wait- Shelbs! I didn't mean-" She could hear Cassie trying to get her attention, but she just picked up her pace. Maybe she shouldn't have brought her. Was this just one more person she was going to lose through his whole situation? She tried to tell herself she didn't care and yet the hot tears streaming down her cheeks told a different story.

She finally spun back around when Cassie grabbed her by the shoulder. Instinctively, her hand reached down to cradle her stomach.

"_What_?"

"I'm sorry," Cassie said genuinely. "That was a shit joke and I'm really, _really_ sorry." She reached up to gently wipe some of Shelby's tears away. "You know I turn into a bitch when I'm uncomfortable."

"If you're that 'uncomfortable', Cass, then you can just go," Shelby said, scowling. "I can do this by myself, I don't need you."

"Yeah you do," Cassie told her. "And I'm here, I swear. I'm sorry." She jetted out her bottom lip and pulled her best puppy-dog eyes. "Pwease forgive me, Shelly-Belly. _Pwease._"

Shelby wrinkled her nose, folding her arms over her chest. "You're not allowed to call me that anymore. It's probably, like, discrimination or something."

"Does this mean you forgive me?" Cassie asked eagerly.

"Maybe."

"Good." Cassie engulfed her in a tight hug and left a wet kiss on her cheek. She kept one arm hooked around Shelby's neck as she grabbed a hold of the sonogram again. "It's actually very cute." She cocked her head as she'd done before. "Yeah, it kind of looks like a little starfish or something?"

Shelby smiled fondly down at the paper, her hand still rubbing small circles on her stomach. "Yeah. My perfect little star."

* * *

"What's this?" Rachel asks, dragging Shelby out of her thoughts.

"What?"

"This," Rachel says again, holding up the plastic CD case. Shelby's stomach turns as she reads the writing on white disc. _Dear Baby Star_. "It's to me, right?"

"Right," she nods. She swallows in an attempt to clear some of the dryness in her mouth. "Your dads and I made it." Rachel stares at it more closely. "We don't have to watch it now…"

"But I'm not staying," Rachel says, repeating her claim from earlier. Shelby has to bite back a groan at that; more wishful thinking, perhaps, but she'd hoped that they were beginning to get to a place where Rachel might give up on that front. Evidently not.

"Are Dad and Daddy in it?"

Shelby nods again.

"Then I want to watch it."

How is she supposed to say no? Before she can really consider it, she's already fulfilling her daughter's request.

She slides the DVD into the player and turns back to Rachel. She's still scowling slightly, arms-folded and sitting bolt upright, but at least they're now doing something on her terms, Shelby supposes.

She can't help the renewed bubbles of anxiety wracking her. What if Rachel just decides she hates her even more after watching this? After catching a little glimpse of what an alternative reality could have looked like? But at the same time, she knows that the girl needs to see it in a way. They all made it for her after all.

She can't find it in herself to sit back down next to Rachel, so as the fuzzy video begins to play, she kneels on the floor and rests her body against the coffee table. It's a good vantage point; from here, she can watch until it gets too painful, gauge Rachel's reaction, and when all else seems too much, stare at the abandoned lessons plans on the table.

Shelby watches as the three figures come into focus and the video begins.

Leroy is using the remote, pointing it straight at the camera, trying to zoom in the right amount. He fails, of course, ever inept at using technology, and instead zooms into a lamp behind the younger Shelby's head.

"Leroy," Shelby whines, with a small stomp of her foot. "Just make it so I'm centred nicely! Oh- and get my belly in."

The picture shudders outwards again, finally capturing the three of them sitting on a couch.

"Is that better?" Leroy asks the girl, eyebrows raised. It's a look Shelby immediately remembers as his 'are you done with being overdramatic now?' look.

"Much," teenaged Shelby says. She flicks some of her long, pin-straight hair over her shoulder and smiles brightly at the camera.

No one speaks for a few seconds before she nudges Hiram's leg with her Ugg-boot covered foot and he snaps into action.

"Right- oh yeah okay - sorry, Shelbs." He turns and gives a big wave to the camera. "Hi there, baby of yet-to-be-determined gender! Although we do hope you have a gender by the time you're watching this, Star."

"Yes," Leroy jumps in. He shifts and looks down at Shelby's bump. "And any time you want to uncross your little legs and show us your penis or lack thereof while you're in there, that would also be brilliant. Preferably the sooner the better."

Teenage Shelby sighs exasperatedly and looks between the two men. "Can you guys _please_ just take this seriously? This is important to me!"

"Sorry, sweetie," Hiram says with a small chuckle. He throws an arm around Shelby's shoulders and she snuggles back into it, her perfect show-face never faltering.

"Hi, baby," she says softly, big eyes looking straight into the camera. "I'm, um, well I'm your mom."

"Shelby they'll know who you are," Leroy says as he also wraps an arm around her.

"Right, yeah- well, I'm still hoping for a second wave of puberty to hit," she says causing both men to roll their eyes. "By the time that's done, I'm most likely going to look different."

"You don't need to look any different- you're beautiful, sweetie," Hiram says.

"You have to say that, I'm having your baby!" she huffs, but she manages a small smile at the compliment. "Anyway, like I was saying, I'm your mom, and these two are your daddies."

"We're still arguing over who's 'dad' and who's 'daddy'," Leroy adds.

Shelby continues like she wasn't interrupted. "And we just wanted to make you this video to tell you how much we all already love you, Star."

"Which is so, so much," Hiram says.

"I don't think I've ever come across a baby this loved already," Leroy adds with a wide grin. "I mean you have me, your amazing and arguably superior father, the other father over there-," Hiram pouts and hits his arm around Shelby, who's giggling, "- and the most loving mom in the whole wide world. And I'm pretty sure even 'he-who-must-not-be-named' loves you too."

"Leroy!" Shelby whines again. "You promised you wouldn't bring him up."

"Sorry, princess. But it's for the baby!" Leroy says. Shelby shoots him a glare and he raises his hands in self-defence. Then he turns back to the camera and adds in a dramatic stage-whisper, "They still aren't talking, but I'm sure by the time you're watching this, they'll both be off on Broadway doing amazing things."

"I don't give a damn if he's not, he can be eaten by lions for all I care."

"Shelby," Hiram says in a warning tone, the seriousness of which is undercut by the fact both he and Leroy are stifling laughter at Shelby's dramatic tendencies. "Anyway, baby Star," he addresses the camera again, "the point we're trying to make is that you are already so loved, and we can't wait to meet you."

"We know that you won't have the most conventional family," Leroy says softly, "but we hope you know how lucky we all are to have you, and to have each other."

"And if you ever, even for a second, believe that this family is any more messed up than any others, you can always come to Mommy and I'll tell you all about how the most nuclear looking families can actually suck the worst," Shelby says. She doesn't seem to notice the look the two men still holding her between them share at this statement. She does, however, respond to their tightened grip on her by resting her head on Leroy's shoulder and moving one hand from her belly to Hiram's leg.

"Is the light supposed to be flashing like that, Leroy?" Hiram asks, squinting his eyes at the camera.

"Uh- no. No, it's not supposed to be." Leroy stands and approaches the camera, obscuring the couch from view.

All that can be heard is heavy breathing as he stands over it and Shelby in the back whining, "I _told _you to make sure it was charging properly before we went to be-."

And then the screen turns black.

Shelby takes a few deep breaths. Her hands are gripping onto the edge of the coffee table so tightly that her knuckles have turned completely white. She hadn't even realised. She steadies herself and finally glances up at the couch where her daughter is still sitting completely upright. Only now she has more tears streaming down her face.

"Rach?" Shelby eventually croaks out. She hadn't registered that she's also crying until she hears the break in her own voice.

Rachel takes a few seconds to look back at her, almost as if she'd forgotten she isn't alone in the room. She blinks at Shelby with wide, glassy eyes. Her lips are parted but no sound comes out for a long time.

"I don't understand." It's quiet, and if Shelby hadn't been looking so intently, she might have missed it.

"What don't you understand, baby?"

Rachel flinches as the last word leaves Shelby's lips. The woman hadn't meant for it to happen, but after watching all that, it just escaped. She bites down on her lip to stop anymore unexpected words slipping out.

"I- I just don't get it. You all looked so- so _happy_. My dads? That's exactly how they used to talk to me. You guys look like- like a family? And then you suddenly weren't?" Rachel's eyes are still looking at Shelby, but they're not seeing her. She's somewhere far away.

"You have to believe me, Rach," Shelby starts. "What I said, what we said in that video, we really meant it at the time. We _were_ like a family." Rachel blinks again and more tears streak slowly down her cheeks. Shelby crawls towards her, still leaning against the table for support. She's honestly sure her legs would give out if she tried to stand up right now.

"So why did that stop?"

"I- I don't know," Shelby admits weakly. Again. She feels pathetic. She sure as hell knows she _looks_ pathetic, kneeling on the floor in front of her teenage daughter, hands shaking and tears still clogging up her eyelashes. "I was so young."

"What does that have to do with anything? You were young in that video but you seemed pretty sure of everything then!" Rachel snaps.

Shelby sighs, pushing herself back up onto the couch. "I wasn't, Rach. I wasn't sure of anything but I just thought that I could keep trying and that everything would eventually fall into place. But… I don't know… It didn't, I guess."

She stares hopelessly down at her lap. She was right, she shouldn't have put that stupid DVD in; now it feels like they're back to square one. Or maybe even further back than that. Her gaze glides upwards until she's staring at a picture from Rachel's first birthday.

It's always been one of her favourites. Taken from the side, Shelby's holding her baby up to her face and wearing a grin that's so broad, it looks like her face is about to tear apart in pure joy. Rachel's smiling too as she leans down towards her mother's nose, tongue outstretched to lick up the frosting she had just dumped there. In the background, Hiram and Leroy are standing with their arms around each other, laughing at the scene before them. It's all just so perfect.

Shelby shuts her eyes tightly, wishing with everything in her that she could talk to them one more time. She's certain that if she could simply sit down with Hiram and Leroy for even ten minutes then they would be able to tell her what to do. They always knew exactly what to do.

_Hiram and Leroy are dead_.

She doesn't have any choice; they're not going to magically appear to guide her through this. No. She has to do this alone and she has to do this for the girl who's still weeping softly next to her.

"Rach?"

Rachel doesn't look up. She's finally dropped her composed posture and is sitting with her head buried in her hands. Shelby sees her tears dribbling down onto the green fabric, forming darker patches in the material.

"It's going to be okay, baby," Shelby says, running a hand over the girl's shaking back. "I promise you that I'm going to make this okay."

Rachel sniffles but doesn't make any move to sit up. "I want my dads," she eventually whispers.

"I know," Shelby says. It's exactly how she feels too.

"No you don't," Rachel sniffs, shrugging her mother's hand off her. She sits up more and shoots Shelby a deep frown. "You don't know at all. I… They were my dads… I just, I want them back _so _badly."

Shelby nods.

"Stop it!" Rachel snaps, jumping to her feet and making her mother recoil a little. "Stop looking at me like you know what I'm talking about! You have _no_ idea what it feels like. I… I lost _everything_! And what were _you_ doing? You were just sitting here in your big house and looking after people who aren't even your own kid! I don't know what happened to make you suddenly decide that you hated me and my dads, but it's not fair. You don't just get to wake up one day and decide that you don't want to be a mother anymore. 'Cause yeah, it was hard for you, but it was a lot harder for me! I'm the one who's been stuck with a woman who doesn't want me for two years. Be-because _nobody_ wants me! I'm the one who's been dealing with this all by myself! And you suddenly want to show up and act like everything's been so _hard_ for you! That's not fair. It's me who's had to deal with everything! It's me who lost my parents! It was me who tol-"

Rachel stops suddenly, heaving in deep breaths that shake through her whole body. Shelby's simply staring at her with tears streaking down her face.

"I hate you!" Rachel shouts. "I hate you so much! I wish it was you- I wish it was you who died and not them!"

They each hold the other's gaze, sucking in lungfuls of air as though there's a shortage of oxygen in the room. Shelby's gripping onto the fabric of the couch so tightly that she's sure she must be about to rip right through it. Everything hurts.

She's felt that way before. She's felt it so many times, but nothing has ever prepared her to feel it like this. And it hurts so much because it's true. It's all true and there's absolutely nothing she can do to change the past.

"Shelbs?"

She finally tears her blurry focus away from her daughter's reddened face and moves them towards the sound of her name. There, standing in the doorway to the living room with a suitcase propped up next to him, is Luke. And from the pained look on his face, it appears as though he's been there for a while.

Her eyes clamp shut for a moment. She just needs to think- she needs everything to pause for a moment so that she can breathe and think and try to work out how the hell she's supposed to move on from this.

But the world never pauses.

"Who are you?" she hears Rachel ask.

She hears him cross the room and feels him lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. He gives it a soft squeeze, forcing her back into the moment. Shelby pulls herself up to her feet, surprised that they can still bear her weight. She swallows hard and takes a long breath.

"Rachel, this is Luke," she says, making a vague gesture between the two of them.

"He's your boyfriend?" Rachel questions, eyeing him closely. Her chest is still rising and falling rapidly; Shelby knows she needs to do something to calm the girl down before things get even more chaotic.

"Yes, he is."

"I'm so sorry," Luke says quietly to her. "I didn't know… I came back early so I could surprise the kids tomorrow… And you tonight, but…"

Rachel's folded her arms back over her chest, the scowl back in place. "You have kids? And you're here with _her_? What is this, some kind of deadbeat parent club?"

"No," Shelby tells her daughter firmly. "You're allowed to be mad at me, but don't be rude to him. He hasn't done anything."

"Who are you to tell me what to do?" Rachel asks coldly.

"I'm your mother," Shelby says. She's never felt more uncertain of herself in her life, but somehow in saying those words aloud, she finds a sense of strength.

"No you're no-"

"Yes I am, Rachel," she says, walking towards the girl and laying a hand on her shoulder. "I'm your mother and I love you."

Rachel just stares at her until her lip quivers again, tears brimming in her eyes. "Do you want me to go now?" she asks.

"What?" Shelby says, shaking her head. "No. Definitely not." She squeezes Rachel's arm, just as Luke had done to her a moment ago. "Right now, all you're going to do is come upstairs with me and get ready to take a shower and go to bed. Okay?"

The girl gives a tiny nod.

"Okay, let's go."

Shelby begins to lead Rachel upstairs but stops when Luke catches her hand.

"Do you want me to go?" he asks. "I can call Anna and see whether I can drive over there. I don't want to get in the way."

Shelby shakes her head again. "No," she says. "Nobody is going anywhere."

The next few minutes pass in a blur. She takes Rachel upstairs, briefly pointing out the various rooms. Then she directs her into the largest guest room and sits her down on the bed, promising that she will be back in a moment with toiletries and clothes. With one final assurance of her love, she heads towards her own bedroom and falls straight into Luke's embrace.

Immediately, she lets out the sobs which have been stifled in her throat. She buries her face into his chest, allowing him to absorb the sounds of her cries. When she finally pulls away, there are two wet patches against his blue shirt.

She runs her fingers over them as he presses a lingering kiss on her forehead.

"Are you okay?"

She looks up into his warm, brown eyes. Eyes that, coincidentally, are a very similar colour to Rachel's. The concern painted all over them is enough to send another sob through her.

"I'm just so sick of this," she whispers, laying her head back on his chest and listening out for the steady beat of his heart. "I'm so fucking sick of everything I've ever done wrong coming back to get me. And I'm so fucking sick and tired of failing at absolutely everything."

"Shelbs, you haven't-"

"Yes I have," she says. "I've honestly failed at everything I've ever tried to do. I failed at being an actress, even though I basically sold myself to get parts. I couldn't even get through my fucking childhood properly- it came crashing down on me when I was twelve. Then I failed at being a normal teenager by getting myself knocked up. I dropped out of school. Twice. My own body decided to fail at being a woman with a working reproductive system. I failed as whatever the hell I was supposed to be to Hiram and Leroy. But I… I failed at being a mother. And now my own kid hates me."

"She doesn't hate you," Luke says, taking her by the shoulders and forcing her to look up at him.

"Yes she does."

"Shelbs," he sighs, pulling her back into him, "none of that is true."

"It is," Shelby nods. "But it's okay. I just need to… If I can feel it, then I can change it."

"What?"

Shelby moves away, running her hands through her hair. "I just need to…"

What exactly does she need to do? _Break it down. _

"I need to get Rachel some things so that she can shower, then I need to text Linda so that she knows Rachel's here and safe." She smiles weakly at Luke and wraps her arms around his neck in another embrace. Over his shoulder, she catches sight of herself in the mirror on her vanity.

There are no stickers on this mirror; she can see herself clearly. She nods firmly at herself.

This is not going to be one more thing she fails at. She can do this.

* * *

_**A/N: Yeah, so I'm splitting this chapter into two parts. Again. Sorry. But good news- the next part already has ~ 5000 words written so it'll be up soon!**_

_**Hope you enjoyed! It was an intense one to write... **_

_**As always, thank you for all the support and I'd love to know what you thought!**_


	11. I Should Tell You- Part II

Shelby's fingers grasp tightly onto the top of the marble counter in her bathroom, knuckles turning white with the exertion of keeping her whole body upright. It doesn't seem fair to be putting so much pressure on them, but she isn't sure how else she's supposed to keep her balance when the whole world, once again, feels like it's spinning too quickly. She steadies herself with a deep inhale and squats so that she can open the cabinet under the counter.

Her mind is flipping over on itself with such vigour that she can barely hold onto her thoughts. She forces herself to dismiss this fact, and instead focusses on scanning through her spare toiletries so that she can find some to give to Rachel.

Toiletries to give to her daughter. Her daughter who is sitting on the bed in her largest guest room. In her house. Her daughter's in her house. Rachel's in her house.

Body wash? She'll definitely need that. Would Rachel prefer vanilla scented or cashmere scented? Who even knew cashmere had a scent? Shelby can briefly remember seeing it in the drug store a couple of months ago and buying it purely out of curiosity.

Does she need to give Rachel shampoo and conditioner? The only ones she has are either Luke's, or the ones which are specially created for coloured hair. She doesn't want to imply that Rachel needs to wash her hair- she doesn't at all. Her hair had felt so soft when Shelby ran her fingers through it earlier. It was like cotton. Or silk. Or cashmere?

And then her eyes fall upon her spare disposable razors. Luke always complains to her about those, saying how bad they are for the environment. Rachel seems like-mindedly conscious when it comes to things like that- will she have the same complaints? Is it inappropriate for her to be giving her daughter a razor in the first place? Do fourteen-year-olds shave? Shelby did. But when she was fourteen, she was doing a lot of things that she would rather her own daughter didn't replicate.

"Shelbs?"

She jerks around, so suddenly startled by the sound of Luke's voice that she knocks the pack of pink razors blades out of the cabinet. They scatter to floor with a succession of clacking thuds.

"Sorry," Luke says gently. He also crouches down and begins to scoop them up. On this occasion, he makes no comment about their detrimental ecological impact. "I got the towel- it's on the bed."

"Thanks," Shelby mutters, accepting the handful of razors he's offering. She looks down at them, squeezing her fist tightly around the pink handles. "Do you…? Can you help me please?"

Crinkles form around Luke's dark eyes as he sends her a warm smile. They both know that that question isn't one which passes through her lips often- definitely not as much as it should do, all things considered. They both understand the magnitude that arrives when she says it now.

"Always."

A few minutes later, Shelby's standing in the hallway outside the guest room. She's cradling a soft, grey towel in her arms, with bottles of vanilla body wash and brunette shampoo and conditioner balanced upon it. The bundle is pulled tightly into her chest so that her shaking arms don't cause it to fall.

"It's fine, Shelbs," Luke says, squeezing her upper arm. "You don't need to be scared."

"I'm not," she replies quickly.

She knows she shouldn't be scared of her teenage daughter. And she's not. She is, however, absolutely terrified of the words which might come spewing out of the girl's mouth. They have the special ability of being able to completely shred her into tiny pieces.

"It'll be fine," Luke assures her again, wrapping an arm around her and laying a kiss on her forehead. She takes a second to rest her head against his chest, savouring the warmth emanating from his body.

"You don't smell like you," she murmurs after a moment. "You smell like… travelling."

"That'll be the 'eau de airplane' I put on earlier. You don't like it?" he asks coyly.

"With hints of hand sanitiser and baggage collection rubber."

Luke chuckles and squeezes her tightly. "I'm going to go sort things out downstairs and-"

"Please make sure you find my phone."

"And I'll make sure to find your phone," he promises, but still looks skeptical.

"What?"

"I just don't get why you have to tell her anything about where Rachel is. She doesn't deserve to know anything."

Shelby purses her lips. She agrees, of course. If it were up to her, she would never let that woman anywhere near her daughter again. But she didn't spend the best part of thirty-six hours doing legal research for nothing.

"I want to make sure she can't use this against me," she explains somewhat tersely. "There was this case in California in '09 where the mother had custody but was allegedly abusive to her son. The father picked the son up from school and took him to his house but the mother was able to file charges of kidnapping and it delayed the custody process by almost three months. I'm not going to let Linda put me in that position. I just… Luke, I need her here for good as soon as possible."

"Okay." Luke nods. "You know what you're doing and I trust you. I'll see you in a few minutes." With a final kiss on her head, he heads down the hallway and towards the stairs, leaving Shelby alone in front of the door.

_You can do this_, she tells herself firmly. _You _have _to do this._

Before Shelby can psych herself out any further, she knocks lightly on the dark wood door and, upon hearing a soft 'come in', lets herself into the bedroom. Rachel is still perched on the edge of the double bed, one hand running up and down the checked pattern on her skirt and the other hurriedly wiping at her face.

"Hey," Shelby says softly, sending the girl a tentative smile.

A part of her is hoping that Rachel's got most of her anger out for the evening, that maybe she'll now just shower and be able to sleep so they can talk properly in the morning. A more rational part knows that's probably untrue.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, stopping in front of the bed. Rachel shrugs, staring at the ground and refusing to meet her mother's eyes. "Rach?"

"I'm fine," she sniffs, eyes still resolutely fixed on the carpet.

Shelby sighs and places the towel and toiletries on the bed before kneeling down in front of her. "Please talk to me, honey."

Rachel sniffs again and Shelby just watches for a moment, wishing there's something she can do to magically dissipate the awkward tension filling the air. She gently reaches out and lays a hand on Rachel's knee, half-expecting the girl to immediately kick it away.

"I'm sorry that today has been so hard, Rach. Truly, I am," she starts, rubbing her hand in what she hopes is a soothing motion. "But you're safe here, okay? All I want is for you to be happy and comfortable."

Rachel shifts awkwardly from side to side, still fervently running one hand over the pattern on her skirt. Eventually Shelby catches her hand, making the girl look up at her in surprise.

"What's going through your head?" she asks, desperate to get some kind of understanding. She _knows _that there must be a lot going on for her daughter- there is for her too, of course. But she's the mom. It's up to her try to help sort things.

"Why am I still here?" Rachel finally responds. Her voice is quiet- shy, even. It unsettles Shelby in a way she can't quite reason. As a toddler, Rachel always knew exactly what she wanted to say, what she wanted to do. They could never make her play with toys she didn't have a distinct interest in or watch anything that didn't immediately pique her attention. And yet, the teenager before her always seems to bear an undercurrent of apprehensiveness.

Shelby tightens her grip both on Rachel's knee and hand, interlocking their fingers. "You're here because I want you here. I love you, Rachel, and I never want to lose you again."

"But.." Rachel trails off suddenly. She's finally made eye-contact with her mother and something about that halts her words in their tracks. Big brown eyes narrow momentarily, studying the face in front of her intently, while her mouth open and closes.

"'But' nothing," Shelby says after a long beat of silence. She tries to arrange her features into a comforting smile, figuring that that's the least she can do for the girl right now. "There's nothing else to it. Now, I think that you should take a shower and then you can go to bed, yeah?"

Rachel nods dumbly, still struck into silence.

"Okay." Shelby keeps her hold on her daughter's hand as she stands, picks up the discarded items on the bed, and leads her out of the bedroom. They walk together to the guest bathroom, which she now hopes will become Rachel's bathroom, and she shows the girl how to work the shower. "I'll find something for you to wear tonight and leave it on your bed, okay?"

"Okay," Rachel whispers.

"Okay," Shelby sends Rachel another smile and presses a kiss on her forehead. "I love you and I'll see you in a few minutes."

The second she steps out of the bathroom, she lets out a shuddering breath filled with the tense air that's been trapped in her chest. The interaction wasn't as bad as it could have been, but she's haunted with the sight of Rachel's tortured eyes every time she flicks her own shut. It creates a swelling ache deep within her that's not like anything she's ever felt before. The usual pain of regret, of self-blame and mourning for what could have been is there, of course. But it's joined by a burst of anger; it wasn't just her who allowed her baby to suffer like this.

"Here's your phone."

Once again, Luke's voice jars her from her thoughts and she jumps upright from where she's been leaning on the hallway wall.

"You okay?" he asks, eyeing her with that usual look of enrapt concern.

"Fine," she replies. Even she can hear the lack of conviction the word bears. She smiles gratefully as she accepts the phone and follows him back into their bedroom, scrolling through her notifications.

"I picked up some takeout earlier, but I figured you wouldn't want any so I've put it away in the fridge. Has Rachel eaten? It's vegan so it should be fine for her- I just got the pad thai from that place on Oakland. I also didn't know what you wanted to do with this, so I just packed it up and brought it back up with me. Do you want me to put it away? Shelbs? Shelby?"

"Huh?"

She glances up at the sound of her name and realises she hasn't heard a single word he's said. Instead, her focus has been entirely on the messages she's received in the time when she wasn't on her phone. There's one from Jesse. He lets her know that he made it to Cami's safely, once more promises her that he won't drink and drive tonight, and reminds her that he loves her and that she can call him if she needs to. There are a few on a group chat she has with some friends in New York- one of those was specifically asking her when she thought she would next be in the city so they could all hang out. Another comes from Cassie, wondering when Luke is planning to be home so they can grab some drinks over the weekend. That one too assures her that she's loved.

They're all so… normal. Normal, yes, but also not. Each one registers like a brick in the pit of her stomach, weighing her down with guilt.

_Why?_ Why are all these people being so nice to her? What has she _ever_ done for any of them to make them act like that? She's not a good person. Don't they know that? Shelby knows it because her own daughter has done enough to assure her of that since she walked through the door earlier.

Shelby isn't a good person. She's a person whose own kid _hates_ her. She's someone who left as soon as things got too hard for her to handle. She doesn't deserve to have people around her telling her that she's loved, or asking to see her. Why can't everyone else see that like she can?

"What is it?" Luke asks, stepping towards her and wrapping his arms around her tightly. "Is it Rachel?"

She manages to shake her head once, looking up at him through blurry vision. Out of everything, she sure as hell doesn't deserve _him_.

"Okay, is it something on your phone?"

Another shake of the head. Because it's not something she's seen projected through a screen that's made her so uneasy. It's just an innate realisation- one that stings and burns and that she knows won't make any sense if she tries to put it into words.

"Please talk to me, Shelbs," Luke tries. His strong but gentle thumb wipes away the tears from under her eyes and she instinctively leans in towards him. He smells like him again. It's the vague scent of something cooking and tobacco smoke; she tells him everyday that she hates that smell on him but she knows it's not true. It smells like home and unconditional love.

Love that she doesn't deserve.

A small sob breaks through her once more and she buries herself into his chest yet again. How he puts up with it, with constantly dealing with her, she's not sure. But if he's here, if he's willing, she'll take it.

"Oh, baby," Luke murmurs, pulling her in tightly. He gently rocks her back and forth, whispering soothing words in her ear.

She's not stupid enough to miss the way that Luke is trying to help her, just like she was trying to help Rachel. She doesn't miss how both of them are too stubborn, too damaged maybe, to actually talk through their problems. But most of all, she doesn't miss how Luke can fight through all of that to still offer her comfort. She didn't, couldn't, do that for Rachel. And if anyone deserves this kind of comfort, it's her daughter.

They're so similar. If it weren't for Rachel's olive-toned complexion, Shelby might be able to forget that it wasn't just her who made a baby. Looks aside, though, she can see herself in how the girl carries herself like someone's holding a mirror up to her every action. That's what hurts.

_Rachel was never supposed to be like her. _

"I'm okay," she says, finally pulling back from Luke's warm chest. She doesn't want to, but there are more important things to attend to right now than her own fragile feelings. "I… I'll talk to you about it later, okay? About everything, I promise."

Luke smiles warmly. "Okay."

Shelby can't quite return it. "I need to…" _Break it down_. "Can you grab some of my pyjamas? Anything- I just need something for Rachel to wear tonight."

"Sure."

As Luke moves to go through her dresser, Shelby returns her attention to her phone screen. She's not sure how she feels about dressing her kid up in her clothes- she's sure that will only make the uncanny feeling of similarity worse.

"It's funny," she says quietly as she goes through her photos to look for Linda's number.

"What is?"

"I…" She knows she took a picture of Rachel's file after she first saw it. "I… Rachel said she was going to leave after she first got here… And I… uh… I threatened to call the police on her…" She finds the number and flicks back and forth between the picture and a new message, copying it down. "I… that's exactly what Hiram and Leroy did to me." She stares at the blinking cursor, trying to work out what to say to the woman. '_You stupid fucking bitch'_ somehow doesn't seem conducive to helping the situation.

"What?" Luke asks, walking back to her with an old t-shirt and some cotton shorts. "These okay?"

She nods, barely registering what he's holding. "I…" Her gaze returns to the screen. "After I left, you know, when I went back to New York, they called the cops. They tried to report me missing." Her thumbs tap warily on the screen before she deletes the message and tries again.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Two officers came to my apartment in the city to do a welfare check, or something? But I told them I was fine and that was that." She finally types out a message she hopes will suffice and holds it up so Luke can see.

_This is Shelby. I have Rachel safely at my house and will call you tomorrow._

"Looks good," he says. She can tell he's still somewhat reluctant over sending it, but she knows it needs to be done.

"So, it's funny, right?" she asks after pressing send and looking back up to meet Luke's confused eyes. "That they called the police on me and then I threatened to do the same to Rachel."

"I-" Luke takes a deep breath, the concern in his eyes growing. "I think it just shows that you both have people who care deeply about you."

_Or maybe it just shows that I've manufactured two shit situations over a decade apart_.

"Maybe." She finally sets her phone down on the table next to her bed, resolving to reply to the her messages in the morning once she can think more clearly. Her eyes move to the dark red throw blanket at the edge of the bed where her 'Rachel box' is sitting. "You brought it back up?"

"I did, yeah," Luke says. "I figured you wouldn't want it left downstairs. I also…"

Shelby knows he's still talking- she's almost certain it's something about food, but she's tuned him out again. She walks slowly towards the box and stares down into the contents. It all looks so innocuous from here and she suddenly gets a fleeting vision of what it might be like if that was the case. She can imagine sitting next to Rachel on a couch somewhere, maybe the floral ones Hiram and Leroy once had in their living room, her arm flung easily around her daughter's neck as she talks her through the contents of each picture. With a sigh, she reminds herself that she can't dwell on things like that, and she scoops the box up, ready to replace it firmly back in its secluded spot in the closet.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps in the hallway distracts her from her task.

"_Shit,_" she hisses. She'd told Rachel that she would leave the girl clothes to change into. Right now, the last thing she wants to do is break yet another promise to her daughter. She quickly grabs the pyjamas from Luke's hands and hurries into the hallway.

"Wait, Rach," she calls. The girl, wrapped only in the grey towel, turns to face her from the doorway back into the guest room. "Here, sorry."

Shelby offers the clothes up to Rachel, but she ignores them. Her whole body is instead turned towards the box still perched on Shelby's hip, held in place by her arm.

"Why do you have that out again?" Rachel asks. Her tone is low, but it spills out into the otherwise silent hallway like someone's shot a gun.

"Oh." Shelby looks down at the box. She'd been so hasty to make sure she was keeping her word to Rachel that she'd practically forgotten she was still holding it. "Sorry, I was just-"

"I don't want to see it!" Rachel snaps. She sends a watery glare her in her mother's direction. With the dim lamp overhead shining into Rachel's glassy brown eyes, Shelby's sure she can spot her own stunned reflection gazing back at her. "You can't just keep showing that to me and expect it to make everything better!"

"Rach, I wasn't. I swear-"

"It's not fair!" Rachel cries, eyes boring into the box once more. "You can't just… Because _I'm_ there and _you're_ there and my… My dads are there! And… and… Why did _you_ get them? Why? I- I… It's not fair! They were _my _dads!"

"I know they were, honey," Shelby says, taking a step towards her daughter.

"No you don't! You don't know anything!"

Her chest begins to rise and fall rapidly again. Shelby can feel her own doing the same and knows she needs to try to diffuse this whole situation as quickly as possible.

"Here," she says again, pressing the pyjamas against Rachel's body. "Go and put these on and then we can talk, okay?"

"No, it's not _okay!_"

"Rachel, _baby_-"

"I'm not your baby!" Rachel shouts, glaring up at Shelby with anger blazing in her eyes. "Just- Just leave me alone!"

As she moves to storm back into the room, she raises one hand and knocks the box out of Shelby's grasp. The door to the bedroom slams shut while the photos flutter to the floor like falling snowflakes.

Shelby watches them land all around her and feels the searing pain start up in her chest again. Another careless mistake of bringing the box out here with her. She just doesn't understand why she can't stop making them, why nothing she ever does is right or is good enough.

She can hear Rachel stomping around a few feet away, but she doesn't make any move to follow. Not yet. Instead, she crouches down and begins to gather the papers up, doing her best to do so without paying too much attention to their contents. She works silently for a few moments until she sees another body mimicking her actions.

"You don't have to do that," she mutters as Luke deposits a picture from Shelby's eighteenth birthday into the box.

"I know I don't."

She's almost done when she finds herself staring down at that same picture from Rachel's first birthday once more. A few moments after it had been taken, she remembers, she had tossed Rachel into the air, repeating the action every time the baby got close to reaching the frosting on her mother's nose. She'd loved that game and Shelby had been all too happy to oblige her. What the hell had happened? How did they go from _that_ to _this?_

And if she can't make sense of it all, then how can she expect Rachel to?

"Hey." Luke lays his hands over the top of hers and the picture suddenly stops jolting from side-to-side. Shelby hadn't realised she was shaking so badly. "It's all going to be okay."

"I know," Shelby lies. She shakes her head and looks up at his soft face. "I'll be fine, you can just go and…" She trails off, realising she has no idea what else he would be doing right now.

"I was going to go make us some food," he says.

"I'm not in the mood."

Luke sighs. "I know, babe, but food isn't something you should be in a 'mood' for."

"Luke," she says tiredly, "I just can't right now."

He studies her carefully and she stares back down at her own knees. She can't face him when he's watching her like that; she'll only have to admit that he's right and she really doesn't have the energy to follow through with that entails.

"You need to ask Rachel whether she's eaten," he says eventually and she realises with a wave of shame that she hadn't even thought of that. "I'll sort us out."

_What kind of mother are you?_

"Right." She nods.

Luke kisses her cheek and gets up to leave. Shelby's alone outside her daughter's door for the second time that night, summoning up the courage to talk to her. _It shouldn't be this hard. _You_ made it this hard. _

She drops the picture down into the box and gets to her feet. Saying a little prayer to anyone who will listen, she knocks.

"Rach? Can we talk please?"

"Go away," comes the muffled voice from inside.

"Rachel, _please_," Shelby says. She leans up against the wall next to the door and stares longingly at the wood. "I just want to make sure you're okay."

She waits for a few, silent moments before swallowing the anxiety swirling in her stomach and gently pushing the door open.

"I _said_ go away!" Rachel shouts. She's changed into the pyjamas and is curled up on her side on top of the bed covers; the tops of them are pulled into her chest like she's clutching at a stuffed toy. She looks more child-like now than ever.

"I can't do that," Shelby says evenly, walking towards the bed. As she approaches the side nearest to Rachel, the girl lets out a sharp grunt and rolls over. "Please just talk to me, Rach. And then I swear I'll leave you alone to get some sleep."

"I don't _want_ to sleep," Rachel says. "I just want you to leave me alone _now_."

"Rachel…"

The girl flings herself upright, glaring at her mother again. "Just go away!" Tears begin to ebb out of her eyes and she angrily swipes them away. "What more do you want from me? You've threatened me into staying here! The least you could do is just me some space!"

Shelby shifts her weight uncomfortably. The words ring so true that she almost decides to just give in. But she can't feel like she's failed again. She can't leave her daughter alone when she looks so distraught.

"I will," she says. "I promise you, I will give you all the space you need once I make sure that you've eaten and that you have everything you need before you go to sleep."

"What?" Rachel bites back. "Trying to make up for twelve years of being a crappy mother in one night?"

Shelby moves towards the girl who immediately starts to crawl to the other side of the large bed. "_Rachel_-"

"No! It doesn't work like that! You can't just lock me in here and show me a bunch of stupid old pictures and force me to talk."

"I'm not trying to do that."

"Yes you are!" Rachel shouts. "And you made Jesse bring me here! And you told him and you didn't even tell me!"

"It wasn't like that-"

"No- that's _exactly _what it was like!" Shelby feels another bit of herself crumbling away at the truth of the words. "You- you accidentally found me and you _still_ didn't want me and-"

"Rach, I've _always_ wanted you."

"Stop lying!" Rachel scrambles down off the bed and stands tall, arms folded over her chest. There are still tears dribbling down her face but she gives off such an air of authority that Shelby's sure she must shrink a few inches under her glare. "You've never wanted me! You gave me to my dads because you didn't want me and then even just seeing me was too hard for you. That's what you said."

"It was hard because I loved you so much," Shelby implores. "_Love_," she quickly corrects herself, running a shaky hand through her hair. "I _love_ you so much."

"No," Rachel says, her voice suddenly much softer. She takes a few steps away from her mother, shaking her head. "N-no you don't."

"Yes I do!" Shelby follows Rachel, the two engaged in some horrible version of cat and mouse. She's trying so desperately, in every way she can think of, to show in her face that she's speaking the truth. Finally. And maybe it's all too little too late, but she has to try. "I promise you, I will explain everything but-"

"I don't need you to," Rachel says. "You don't have to because I was there! I lived it! I… You don't know what it's like, but _I _do!"

Another few steps from each of them and Rachel's back is practically pressed up against the wall now. Her hands flatten on either side of her against the surface as her body makes contact with it.

Shelby suddenly stops her advances and shuffles backwards. She knows what it's like to be backed up into a corner without any hope of escape. That's one position she will _never_ put her daughter in. She gathers herself for a moment; she's the adult and she's the one who needs to be in control of this situation. But she has to get some control in a way that won't terrify her kid.

"Can we try talking, Rach?" she asks softly. "Please, let's just sit down and talk."

Rachel shakes her head. In the deathly silence of the room, Shelby can hear her hair grazing against the cream wallpaper. Her hair is dry. She didn't need to worry about what kind of shampoo to give her.

"No. Y-you're just going to lie to me again!"

Shelby holds her hands up in front of her. "I won't, I swear. I'll tell you anything you want to know- anything at all."

Rachel freezes for a moment and finally, _finally_, Shelby feels a pang of hope. It disappears the moment she sees yet another shake of her daughter's head.

"A-all you do is lie," she whispers, blinking hard and letting a few more tears roll down her cheeks. "All anyone does is lie to me. And y-you're supposed to be the one to protect me from that. But you didn't- y'you don't! All you've ever done is ruin my life!"

The blow of those words knocks Shelby backwards another step._ It was never supposed to be like this. _

"We were happy… We- we looked so happy… And then you ruined _everything_!"

"No," Shelby says. It's instinctive, but not a denial. She knows all of this; she's told herself as much everyday for so many years.

"Yes!" Rachel shouts. She stands firm for a moment before pushing herself up off the wall and running out into the hallway.

"_Rachel_," Shelby calls, chasing after her. She can't let her leave- not now. Not when it's dark and cold outside and she has nowhere to go. Shelby just hopes Luke might be able to catch her.

But Rachel doesn't run towards the stairs. Rather, she's standing over that same, fucking box, glaring at it like she wishes it would just spontaneously combust and disappear forever.

It's her most treasured possession, but Shelby instantly wishes the same thing.

Rachel reaches down and snatches up the top picture. "Look!" She turns it and holds it up to Shelby. Her hands too are shaking violently. "Look at how happy we were! And then you just didn't want that anymore because you suddenly _hated_ me!"

"No!" Shelby says sharply. She can just about take everything else Rachel can throw at her, but not that. _Never_ that. "That is _not_ true. I love yo-"

"You don't!" Rachel shouts. "You don't, you don't, you _don't_!"

And, as the last word flies through her lips, she tears the picture in two, right down the middle. Papers flutter again towards the floor- only this time, there's a gulf between the faces of mother and daughter.

Rachel's eyes widen in horror as she watches them fall. Her breath hitches forcibly in her chest, in her entire body, as she looks up and meets her mother's shocked eyes. Brown eyes flood with tears, a lip trembles with an unprecedented instability and the girl's knees seem to give way beneath her. Sob after sob pounds frantically through her small body as she buries her face down into her legs. Between them, small fragments of words slip from her.

"_So st-stupid… stupid… idiot_."

For once, it takes Shelby less than a second to react. She kicks the box out of the way, ignoring how it topples over on its side, and falls gracelessly to her own knees. Quickly, she wrenches Rachel upright and pulls her tightly in, clutching her against her chest until the girl is practically lying on top of her.

"I've got you," she says firmly. "I've got you and I love you and I'm never letting you go." If possible, she tightens her hold on her daughter as another wave of sobs overtake her. "Don't you ever think that I hate you, Rachel. That's impossible. Completely impossible. I love you so, _so_ much- more than you could ever imagine, Star. I know I've hurt you and I will never forgive myself, but I swear to you that I will spend every single day for the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. Whatever you need, whatever you want, I'm here. I promise you, my love, I'm here and I'm never, _ever_ going to let you go."

She's not sure how much, if any, of her little speech Rachel has managed to hear over the splitting sounds of her own cries, but she just carries on holding her. She presses her lips hard against Rachel's sweaty forehead as if she can somehow physically impress her love upon her.

"I-I… Ca-Can't…" Rachel wheezes. Her hands find the edges of Shelby's t-shirt and latch on desperately. "Mo-Mo…"

"Shh, baby, I know," Shelby says, running her hand over the back of Rachel's head. "I know, I'm here." She swallows the lump forming in her own throat which threatens to choke her and lifts her eyes towards the ceiling so that her own tears won't fall. She has to stay strong. "I know, my love."

"Y-you're gonna… h-hate m-me…" the girl splutters through her sobs.

Shelby grips her tightly. "Impossible, Rachel. I will never, ever hate you."

"Bu-But…Ca-can't brea…"

A raging fear floods through Shelby at those staggered words. She looks down at Rachel's reddened face with wide eyes. Her baby can't breathe._ Her child cannot breathe._

"Luke!" she shouts quickly over her shoulder. Then she adjusts the two of them so that Rachel is set down in front of her. The girl's head bows again but Shelby speedily places her hand under her chin, forcing it back up. Rachel's desperate eyes meet hers. "You need to take some deep breaths for me, honey."

Shelby takes some of her own, trying to coax her daughter into a steady pattern. It doesn't work; the girl is still choking on the air filling her own lungs.

"Come here," Shelby says, lifting her other hand to Rachel's head. She pulls her gently in so that their foreheads are pressed together. "You just need to slow down and breathe. That's it- nice and deep for me, okay?" She can smell the vanilla body wash wafting up from the girl's skin and feels her tears wetting her own face. They haven't been so close for fourteen years. "Don't think about any of it right now. Just focus on breathing in and out."

Slowly, and with some haggard stuttering on Rachel's part, Shelby manages to pull them into one, cohesive rhythm.

"Well done," Shelby says, drawing back only enough to kiss Rachel's forehead again. She then pulls her back in so that Rachel's head is against her chest with her own chin lying against her daughter's hair. "That's it- you're doing so well, Star. I promise you, I have you and you're safe."

Now that she can see beyond a mess of dark hair and panicked brown eyes, she spots Luke lingering nervously at the top of the stairs.

"Can you grab us some water and a face wipe please?" she says quietly. He nods and squeezes her shoulder as he passes them.

Shelby lets out her own shaking breath and continues to rock her baby girl in her arms. "It's all going to be okay."

The words are as much for her benefit as they are for Rachel's.

Ten minutes later, mother and daughter are sitting side-by-side, both leaning against the hallway wall with their knees pulled up to their chests. Shelby's hand lays atop Rachel's shoulder, partly for comfort and partly as a way for her to monitor the girl's breathing as she takes slow sips from her glass of water.

"How are you feeling?" she asks when Rachel eventually sets the empty glass down.

Rachel shrugs and leans her chin down to rest on her bare knee. "Fuzzy."

Shelby smiles sadly. "I bet. I think you had a panic attack, Rach." In fact, she _knows_ she did. She's been there enough times herself to recognise the symptoms. Rachel glances up at her with a confused frown. "Have you ever felt like that before?"

Another shrug and then a tiny nod. "I think so just… maybe not as bad?"

Shelby's heart crumbles in her chest. She doesn't let it show on her face. "It's scary, right?" she says, nodding. "When you feel like you can't catch your breath."

Rachel's frown deepens. "You've had one?"

Shelby chuckles and raises her eyebrows. "A few more than one."

"Oh."

"The tingling will pass," she says, rubbing Rachel's shoulder again. "It's just because you took in too much oxygen even though it feels like you couldn't get any."

Rachel nods and starts to run her finger round the rim of the glass. "I'm sorry." She glances up at her mother. "For… With the picture and… With everything, I guess."

Shelby scoots around so that she's facing Rachel head-on again. "You don't need to be sorry, honey. It's a lot and it's overwhelming and I definitely wouldn't be handling it all as well as you are."

Rachel scoffs. "I doubt that."

"Well it's true." Shelby presses her lips together tightly as she studies her daughter. For once, she would just like to think of the right thing to say. "I'm the one who has to apologise, Rach. There's so much for me to say I'm sorry for, and I will. I _am_. But, for now, I'm so sorry for showing you that box. I just… That thing is so special to me, honey, because it's all about you. And you are by far the most special thing in my whole life. I thought that maybe it would help you see how much I love you and how I never, _ever_ stopped thinking about you, even when I wasn't there. But it was the wrong time for all of that and so I really do apologise."

"It does," Rachel says quietly. She ceases her motions on the glass and looks deep into Shelby's eyes. "Help me see that, I mean. I- I shouldn't have said you hate me because I don't think that."

A small smile traces Shelby's lips. "I'm glad. That is _so_ far from the truth, sweetheart, I promise." Rachel nods once and Shelby knows that's probably as good as it's going to get for now. "Are you feeling up to eating something?"

"Maybe."

"I can make you whatever you like, or Luke brought some take-out home so…" She trails off when Rachel bites her lip in hard thought. "What is it?"

"Oh. It's nothing, it's just I'm… Well, I don't eat meat but-"

"That's fine," Shelby says with a reassuring smile. "Luke's vegan so it's definitely meat-free."

For the first time, Rachel looks up with something close to excitement displayed on her features. It's enough to send a tiny wave of warmth right through her mother. "Really?"

"Really. In all its disgusting tofu glory," Shelby says dryly.

Rachel finally gives a small grin. "Okay."

"Shall we go down and have some then?" Shelby asks, beginning to push herself up off the floor.

Rachel follows hesitantly. "Would you… Do you mind if I have some time alone to eat? I think I just need to… to process."

"Oh." Shelby tilts her head in consideration. She can't deny that she understands Rachel's need for that right now, but she also can't shake the nervous feeling that comes at the thought of the girl being alone downstairs. The hopeful look in Rachel's eye, though, is enough for her to push that to the side for the time being. "Okay. But will you do me one thing?"

"Yeah?"

Shelby holds out her hand towards the girl, pinky finger extended. "You have to pinky promise me that you're not going to leave this house. Deal?"

Rachel raises one eyebrow skeptically and Shelby has to bite back a laugh. She's seen that exact expression in countless pictures of herself before. After a brief pause, Rachel lifts her own hand and links their fingers. "Deal."

"Go on then," Shelby laughs. She reaches down to scoop up the torn picture and the box, determined this time to _really_ put it away.

"Wait," Rachel says. The woman turns to look expectantly at her. "Can I… I know it sounds stupid after everything, but can I keep it tonight?"

"This?" Shelby questions, holding the box up.

Rachel nods. "For processing, you know?"

There's a brief flicker of reluctance in Shelby. She really doesn't want to come back to it in the morning and find every picture shredded in anger. But trust has to start somewhere, right? No one can grow if people keep thinking they'll make the same mistake over and over again.

"Sure." She holds it out to Rachel who, thankfully, takes its weight like it's precious cargo.

The girl looks intently down into it once more. Then, she balances it in one arm and reaches down, carefully extracting out one picture. A flurry of emotions pass through her expressive eyes as she drinks it all in; Shelby merely watches it happen, trying not to assume that this will land them back in yet another shouting match. When Rachel looks up, she poses a question that Shelby never would have predicted.

"You went to NYU, right?"

Shelby frowns, wondering which picture she could possibly be looking at. Maybe it's one with that sweatshirt. "Uh, yeah. Tisch first and then the main school."

Rachel nods, grinning a little. "So this was my first trip to New York?"

She finally turns the picture so her mother can see what she's talking about. A young Shelby, clad in cap and gown, is bouncing baby Rachel on one hip, smiling broadly at her. The girl is reaching out towards the hat's tassel and giggling at her mother.

In the present, Shelby's face contorts slightly.

She glances back up at her daughter, at her grown-up baby, and stays silent for a moment. Maybe she shouldn't have, but she assumed that Rachel knew at least a little about her- or, more specifically, about the circumstances surrounding her birth. Evidently not.

"Oh," she breaks the silence ever-so eloquently. "That's not… I _did_ go to NYU, but that's actually from my high school graduation."

"_Oh_." Like mother, like daughter.

"Yeah."

Rachel lifts the picture closely to her face and studies it anew. Shelby squeezes her lips together for a moment, before pushing them back out. She _had_ promised Rachel honesty. She moves so that she can see it too, looking from over Rachel's shoulder.

"You're one there- you just turned one a month before that." Rachel peers up at her curiously. "And I'm seventeen. I… uh… I actually graduated a year early because your dad and daddy homeschooled me for while I was… When I was pregnant and living with them. I lived with them for about six months full-time - I don't know whether you knew that. But yeah, they brought you to my graduation."

Rachel frowns up at her. "You had me during high school?"

"I did, yeah. I was sixteen." Shelby pauses, biting her lip. "I was fifteen when I got pregnant but… well, I didn't find out until after my birthday and then… Yeah."

"I didn't know," the girl says quietly. "I thought that… You were so young."

Shelby smirks. "I was. So don't go getting any ideas."

Rachel doesn't react to her attempt at a joke. "Is that why you gave me to my dads?"

"Among other things- things we can talk about later, if you want to hear them- yes."

"Oh," Rachel says again. She gives her mother a tiny smile and quickly places the box back inside her bedroom.

"Are you okay?" Shelby asks as she emerges.

"I think so," Rachel replies. "I just need to…"

"Process?"

"Yeah."

Shelby nods. "We can talk more about it anytime you want, okay?"

"Okay," Rachel repeats. She starts to walk towards the stairs but turns back before she climbs down them. "Thank you. I… You didn't ruin my life, and thank you for giving me to my dads."

Shelby can't help but smile. She knows this isn't the end of it. She understands that Rachel will, and should, have a thousand more questions to ask about everything. She also realises that she isn't forgiven entirely, nor should she be, and that the teenager's emotions are so fragile that they fly from pole to pole with every small gust of wind.

But, for now, she simply smiles. "You're welcome, Rachel."

The second Shelby hears the door to the kitchen close, she enters her bedroom and flings herself down onto her bed. It takes just a moment for Luke to dog-ear the page of his book and wrap his arms tightly around her. She curls her legs into herself, making her body as small as possible, and allows him to cloak her in a warm embrace.

She doesn't cry. She's half-expecting to feel the familiar sting of tears pricking at the backs of her eyes, but it doesn't come. Maybe she's just too exhausted for that. There's no real sense of sadness, of anger, of resentment or regret. It's all just… numb. It's been the longest night of her life already and she knows she can't fully say that it's over just yet.

Luke adjusts her so that she's lying with her head against his bare chest and able to hear the steady beats of his heart. She shuts her eyes for a moment but soon forces them back open; she can't fall asleep yet, as much as she may want to. The warmth of his body under her and the way he's running his fingers through her hair aren't helping matters. She lets out a big yawn and he chuckles softly.

"Sleepy?"

She rolls her eyes. "You would be too."

"No I wouldn't," he counters. "Because _I _simply would have dropped down into a deep and impenetrable slumber several hours ago."

"Funny."

"Thanks." He lets a finger trail lazily over the contours of her face. When it comes to rest on top of her lips, she peers up at him. "Hey. I missed you."

"I missed you more," she replies, kissing his finger gently. "Seriously."

Luke smiles down at her. "God, Shelbs, I really can't leave you alone for more than a few days, can I? Look at all the trouble you get yourself into."

Shelby smirks. "Technically, this is just the hangover of previous trouble."

"That's one killer hangover."

"Tell me about it." She rolls over onto her front so that she can look properly into his eyes. "I'm sorry about how crazy everything's been tonight, and thank you for just… being here."

"That's what I'm here for," he says easily. "For 'just… _being'_."

"Shut up. You know what I meant and I'm trying to be nice."

"You're always nice."

"That's true." She leans forwards and kisses him deeply, savouring the feeling of finally, _finally_, having him back. For maybe the first time since Rachel walked through the door of her classroom, she's starting to feel some semblance of normality. "I really missed you."

"I _am_ pretty missable," he says with a smug smile. "But, then again, so are you."

"Really?" She raises her eyebrows. "Even when I drag you in to all my drama?"

"Your drama is my favourite part of you."

Shelby pulls a face of mock-concentration. "Is that so? Because _I _thought you said my favourite part of me was my boo-"

She's cut off when Luke presses his hand over her mouth.

"Shh- there's a _child_ in the house now."

She jerks her face away from his grasp and smirks. "Well, I'm pretty sure that child might have tired herself out with all the screaming so, you know, maybe once she's gone to bed…"

Luke frowns. "You're not seriously about to say that, after making me listen to you whine for over a week about getting said child into your house, you're now hoping she goes to bed soon so that you can seduce me?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Shelby says. "And also- I did not _whine_."

"You totally whined."

She scowls. "Okay, you can go back to London now, I'm sick of you."

"No you're not," Luke laughs. He tightens his grip on her and pulls her back into his side before tilting his head so he can kiss her deeply again. "Still sick of me?" he asks when they come up for air.

"Not so much," she replies, leaning her head back up on his chest. She allows herself a few more moments peace before she takes a deep breath. "Luke?"

"Mm?"

"Hiram and Leroy are dead."

It's the first time she's said it out loud.

Luke's fingers, which had again been running through her hair, stiffen momentarily. It's the briefest lapse in movement, but Shelby feels it. She knows he already knew. Of course he did. Why else would she suddenly be so interested in getting full custody of her daughter? Why wouldn't she have been talking about going to see the two men? That, and he definitely couldn't have missed Rachel's shouts earlier.

Luke cradles her body closer in towards him and place a kiss onto the top of her head. "Are you okay?"

She shrugs, head drooping in uncertainty and resignation. "I think so… But I can't stop thinking about… Like everything that Rachel's said is true. Completely. I _was_, we were, I mean, we were right and here and she was right there going through _all_ of _that_ and I just… I had no idea. I didn't _do_ anything."

"But you're right- you had no idea, Shelbs," Luke says. When she simply shrugs again, he continues, "If you'd have known, then you would have done something, right? You would have stepped in and helped in any way you could?"

"Definitely."

"So that's that," he says firmly. "It's not like you made a conscious choice to avoid being there."

"Not this time," Shelby mumbles. "But if I hadn't done that in the first place, then I _would_ have been there."

"But you did." He runs his hands over her head soothingly. "And nobody in the world has made you pay more for that decision than you have."

"But Rachel's paid for it too. And that… It's not fair," Shelby whispers. The tears still aren't coming. "She was right when she said that I was the one who was supposed to protect her from that, and I failed."

"You gave her to two men who were wonderful parents, Shelby. You can't downplay that aspect of it. You made sure that she was in a safe and loving home. How could you have known that that wouldn't always be the case?"

Shelby shakes her head against his chest. "I'm her mom. I shouldn't have just assumed that… I should have always checked in. I should have made sure…"

"Maybe," Luke concedes gently. "But you didn't. And now that you _do_ know what's going on, you're doing everything in your power to help her. Doesn't that count for something?"

"I don't know yet." She sighs deeply and secures her arm tightly around Luke's torso. She needs to keep him close. "I'm never going to get to say sorry."

"They knew you were sorry, Shelbs. I promise you, they knew that."

She looks up into his warm, brown eyes. They're so genuine, so full of sincerity and love, but she doesn't trust them on this one.

"And you know what would make the best apology now?" Luke continues. "Doing exactly what you _are_ doing. Loving Rachel, being there for her, making sure she's okay. Don't you think that would show them exactly what kind of person you are? What kind of person they helped you to become?"

"I guess," she whispers.

He kisses her head softly again. "Do you want to talk about it more?"

"Not right now," she says, shaking her head again. She doesn't know what to say. Like Rachel, she knows she still has a lot of processing to do. "Can you tell me about London?"

Luke laughs. "Sure. Do you want the story of me getting lost in the subway system, or about the lecture I went to on psychoanalytical interpretations of Sub-Saharan pastorals?"

"Pastorals definitely," Shelby says, grinning as she adjusts her head to lay back right over his heart. "Lots of phallic farming equipment?"

"_So_ much phallic farming equipment."

Shelby stays curled up in his embrace, intently listening to his impassioned talking, until she hears footsteps in the hallway. She can tell Luke hears them too from the way he trails off and looks questioningly down at her.

"Is there anything else I could have forgotten?" she asks.

"I put a toothbrush and toothpaste in the bathroom," he replies. "I don't know whether you need to tell her?"

She smiles at his thoughtfulness. In every way, he's a better person than she is. "I'll give her a few minutes," she decides. "And then I'll go and say goodnight. Bets on world war three breaking out?"

Luke tilts his head. "Unlikely, I think. I don't know anyone who could be in the mood for violence after eating that pad thai."

"I would be."

"You're always in the mood for violence." He pulls back a little and reaches over to the end table on his side of the bed. "Speaking of which…"

He produces a protein bar and holds it out to Shelby who rolls her eyes.

"Really?"

"Really."

With an exaggerated reluctance, she takes it from him and peels back the wrapper. There's absolutely nothing within her which is telling her she's hungry, but she's learned- and Luke's learned- that her own body can't always be trusted in the matter.

"You're so lucky I love you," she says through a small mouthful of peanuts and pumpkin seeds.

"Yeah," Luke agrees with a wink, "I am."

True to her word, Shelby lingers in the bedroom for a few minutes, giving her daughter her requested space. She hears more footsteps heading towards the bathroom, a little interlude of silence, and then the sound of the toilet flushing. It's then that she counts to a hundred and fifty in her head, while Luke continues chattering away to her, and finally drags herself away.

"I'll be right back."

Two more soft knocks land on the guest room door. It's certainly got a work-out tonight.

"Rach?" Shelby calls softly as she cracks the door open. She's surprised to find the room in total darkness and total silence and, for a moment, she figures that maybe she should just leave Rachel to sleep. Soon, though, from the light coming in through the hallway, she sees Rachel shift up on her elbows under the covers. "Sorry- I didn't mean to wake you."

"S'okay," the girl mumbles, rubbing at her eyes with one fist. "I wasn't asleep yet."

A fond smile crosses Shelby's face at the sight of her little girl finally looking somewhat peaceful in her home. She thinks she could definitely get used to this. She leaves the door slightly ajar so that there's some light and crosses to sit on the edge of Rachel's bed.

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay. Do you have everything you need?"

"Mmhmm," Rachel murmurs, lying back down properly. "Thanks for the toothbrush."

"Anytime," Shelby chuckles softly. She runs her hand over Rachel's dark hair and watches as the girl struggles to keep her eyes from flickering shut. "It's okay, honey, you get some sleep."

"Mkay."

"Okay." Shelby hesitates for a moment before leaning down to press a kiss on Rachel's head. "Goodnight, my love. Sleep well and come and wake me up if you need anything, yeah? And come and get me in the morning if I'm not already up."

"'Kay."

"Okay," Shelby repeats. She strokes Rachel's head one last time and goes to leave the room.

"Mommy?"

Standing in the doorway, Shelby's sure her heart literally explodes once more. Only this time, it's with happiness. After everything that's happened tonight, she was starting to doubt that she would ever hear that word leave Rachel's mouth again.

"Yeah, babe?"

"I'm sorry I made you cry earlier," the girl whispers. Her eyes are still tightly shut, but there's a pained frown on her face now which makes her mother walk back towards the bed.

Shelby kneels down on the floor next to her so that her face is only a foot away from her daughter's.

"You have nothing to apologise for, my love. I promise."

"I didn't mean to," Rachel murmurs sleepily. "Was an accident."

"I know you didn't, Rach," Shelby says. She takes her hand to Rachel's head again and brushes a few strands of her away from her eyes tenderly. "You don't need to worry about anything, okay? I swear to you that I'm going to make it all alright."

"'Kay," Rachel breathes out. She shifts a little on the bed, nudging herself closer towards her mother. "Mommy?"

"Yes?"

"I'm so tired."

"I know you are, baby," Shelby sighs sadly. "I know you are. You've been _so_ strong, Rach. My amazing, strong, sweet, brave girl. I promise you that I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere. So you just get comfy and try to sleep for me." She leans over to kiss Rachel's forehead again and continues to run her fingers across the girl's hair until her breathing starts to even out. "Goodnight, my love."

She's back at the doorway when Rachel's voice calls out again.

"Mommy?"

"Yes?"

"Next time I go see Dad and Daddy, do you wanna come?"

And with that, tears do start to sting at Shelby's eyes. "I would love that, honey."

"'Kay. G'night."

Shelby smiles softly. "Goodnight, honey. I love you."

000

When the alarm starts to blare, Luke is in the middle of placing another kiss on Shelby's forehead. It was his third of his saying goodbye process, the sixth of the morning as a whole. He'd been about to leave the room for good, but she had let out a gentle snore and looked _so_ adorable, that he'd gone back for one last peck.

His head jerks up in surprise when he hears the steady beeping coming from downstairs and, for a second, a wave of adrenaline washes over him as he pictures having to fend off heavy-set burglars with an umbrella. Sure, he works out in their home-gym from time to time (at Shelby's insistence), but he's a _literature professor- _they're not exactly known for their violent streaks or brawn. Maybe he could recite Shakespearian sonnets at them until they're slowly driven into madness. Or no, that's too much. No one deserves a fate quite that miserable.

The left half of his brain is delivering its regularly frequented internal monologue on just how overrated Shakespeare is, while the right allows his body to finally relax in realisation. He's put the pieces together that a group of burglars most likely _haven't_ entered the home at 7:30 AM on a Saturday morning, but rather that the newest member of the household has ventured downstairs. Given the state she was in last night, Luke considers it highly unlikely that Shelby thought to mention the alarm system to her daughter.

With a final fond smile directed towards his girlfriend, who as expected, is still sleeping deeply, he exits the bedroom and heads down the stairs. In the entrance hall, he keys in the alarm code and makes a mental note to ask Shelby whether she thinks they should change it; tensions are high enough, and he would hate to see them brought to catastrophic new levels by something as mundane as an alarm code.

He's surprised that Rachel wasn't already in there, trying to work out how to switch the thing off. He glances at the front door in order to check that there's no sign of either a break-in or a runaway teenager. Finding it stoically shut and bolted, he wanders into the living room to search for the girl. Now the beeping has stopped, he thought he might hear her moving around, but everywhere appears completely silent aside from the dripping of the tap in the kitchen that Shelby has been nagging him to fix. He had, of course, suggested that in the name of feminism, she could fix it herself. He'd been banned from using the words 'Freud', 'injustice' and 'ideology' for three days as a punishment. It was okay. He'd got through it by complaining about the Foucauldian structures of power in the household instead.

Becoming increasingly concerned for Rachel's welfare- and his own if Shelby finds out he lost her- he checks the hall closet, the basement and the laundry room. It's as he's leaning up against the tumble dryer, wondering if it's possible that she had slipped back up the stairs while he wasn't watching, that he hears a floorboard creak in the neighbouring office. He pushes the door open gently to reveal Rachel, lying flat on her stomach, flipping through one of Shelby's old VA notebooks. He has to bite back a laugh; of all the juicy things in the office, _that's _what she's chosen to look at. She really is so similar to her mother.

"Hi," he says quietly from the doorway, trying his best not to frighten the girl.

It doesn't work. For a moment, her whole body seems to levitate from the ground as she flinches in shock. Her head whips round, sending tousled brown hair flying, until her startled eyes meet his.

"I-I'm so sorry," she says shakily, pushing herself up off the wooden floor and onto her knees. She takes a deep breath, hand resting on her chest. "Did I wake you up? With the alarm before- I'm sorry. It just started going, but then it stopped and I-"

Luke waves her off. "I was already up," he assures her. "I'm just glad it's you and not some merry band of thieves come to pilfer my poetry collection."

Her eyes follow his as he looks affectionately towards the heavily stacked shelves. Then they droop towards the ground again. "And it didn't wake…"

"Shelby?" he asks. Rachel gives a barely noticeable nod. "Never. That woman would sleep through the apocalypse."

"Oh, good." Rachel rubs her hand over her chest wearily. "_God, _that scared me. I didn't even realise there was a door there."

A lame joke about Shelby pulling the same expression whenever he's surprised _her_ through the 'back entrance' flits across his mind. He pushes it away quickly. Not the time, not the place, and _definitely_ not the right audience. It's not even true, he's all about full consent, of course. As he takes in Rachel's child-like demeanour, he realises he's going to have to work on his filter if he's now living with a teenager.

"Apologies," he laughs, holding his hands up in defence and looking back towards the laundry room. "The people who used to live here before must have enjoyed doing paperwork to the gentle sounds of swirling water. I bet _they_ needed a lot of bathroom breaks."

His new-and-improved attempt at a joke falls flat; Rachel barely even smiles. Maybe he should have stuck with the first one. Teenagers like dirty humour, right? _Probably not when it's about their estranged mothers, idiot._

He runs a hand uneasily through his dark hair while Rachel maintains her curious gaze on him.

"Whatcha got there?" he tries again, nodding at the book. _If in doubt, VA your way out_. That's probably the Shelby Corcoran motto on life.

She quickly snaps it shut and pushes it away. "Nothing."

Luke attempts to conjure up his friendliest face. _Third time's a charm._ "You know, if I woke up in a strange house with nothing to do, I'd also have a little snoop around."

"I wasn't snooping!" Rachel protests, cheeks flushing. _Bingo_. "I was just…" She trails off with a tentative smile when she sees Luke raise his eyebrows playfully.

"Yeah, yeah," he teases, shooting her a wink. "Don't worry. I won't tell Shelby, and I'll _even_ show you exactly where to put it back." He reaches down for the book and smirks. "You know, for that inevitable day when she's in desperate need of her rehearsal notes from… 'Sectionals 2016, Month One'." Flicking to a random page, he begins to read, "'_The second verse is flatter than the perceived shape of the earth in medieval times.' _Charming. However," he turns to Rachel with a thoughtful expression, "that's actually not true. It's a common misconception, but most medieval scholars actually knew that the earth is round."

Rachel, still kneeling on the floor, looks utterly bewildered by his words, but at least the 'I'm Bambi and hunters just shot my mom' look has gone now. Luke can feel her gaze following him as he carefully slots the notebook back into place in the big wooden bookcase.

"Sorry," he says, looking down at her. "I didn't even ask whether you were done with it."

She hastily shakes her head. "No… I… It's fine."

"Okay. But if you _do_ want to read, there are plenty of more comfortable spots in this house than on the floor. Just _wait_ until you discover the wonders of chairs."

Grinning, he leans down and offers a hand up to Rachel, who sheepishly accepts it.

With Rachel standing there in Shelby's loose-fitting 'I 3 Paris' t-shirt and cotton shorts, Luke is once again taken aback by their startling resemblance. It's only the eyes that are really different- not just in terms of colour, but more so in the depth of expression. Even on her very worst days, Luke's not sure he's ever seen his girlfriend's hold so much emotion. Not so many at once, anyway. That realisation sets off a pang of pain in his stomach. _She's just a kid. _

"Look, Rachel," he says softly, "I can't even begin to imagine what you're going through right now." Her timid eyes seem to increase the intensity of their stare. "You've been thrust into this crazy situation and now you're in a strange new place, with strange new people." He pulls a self-deprecating face, finally eliciting a proper smile from the girl. "But, for what it's worth, I'm so happy that you're here."

"Really?"

"A hundred per cent," he confirms with a nod. "And I know that Shelby is too."

Rachel looks down and bites on her lip in a _very_ Shelby-like way. "I- I can _feel_ that she is," she says. "But… I don't know… And I am too. I just…" She shakes her head as she tries to gather her thoughts. That's a recognisable 'Shelby move' too, so Luke chooses not to interrupt; she'll find her words if he gives her a moment. "When I woke up yesterday morning, I didn't have any parents and now…"

There's another pang of pain in Luke's stomach as he watches tears begin to gather in Rachel's eyes. When she looks up towards the ceiling lamp, trying to blink them away, he jumps into action.

"I think this conversation would be easier over a cup of tea, don't you?"

000

"Is oat milk okay?" Luke calls from behind the refrigerator door.

He pokes his head out to look at Rachel who's sitting at the island counter, swinging her legs back and forth. She nods her approval with a small smile, and Luke sets about finishing off their tea. He carries the two steaming mugs over to the counter, sliding Rachel's towards her while he remains standing on the other side.

He quickly checks his phone to see whether his sister-in-law has replied to his text yet. Seeing that she has, and that she's told him to take his time, he leans down to rest his elbows on the granite so that they're at equal eye-level. It's Shelby's favourite position to have 'serious conversations' in. She always says she appreciates the way the elevated bar stool cancels out their height difference.

"Thanks." Rachel nods shyly, lifting her mug and blowing against the hot liquid. Luke watches her as she takes a large sip. When she pulls it away, the smile on her face broadens. "This is so good. We never had non-dairy milks at Grandma's." She stops suddenly. "_Have_," she corrects, a frown appearing. "We never _have_ non-dairy milks."

She mutters something to herself and stares down into the brown liquid intently. Luke's about to jump into the discussion when she speaks again.

"Mo- Shel-…" The girl shuts her eyes and swallows hard. "_She_ told me that you're vegan too, right?"

He's so caught up in her evident distress over how to address Shelby that he almost misses the question.

"Uh… yeah." He looks down into his own mug, catching his own puzzled reflection glinting up at him. "Yeah, I've been vegan for a couple of years now. I'll have to show you some of my favourite recipes."

"You'd do that?"

"Of course, yeah," he says brightly. "We should cook together sometime, if you want?" Rachel's brow furrows. "Or not? We don't have to, I just thought-"

"No, I'd love to," she interrupts. "It's just that-" She sighs deeply. "I don't know what's going to happen- whether I'll be here or…"

Luke nods, matching her wistful expression, before clearing his throat. "Well, you don't need to have it all figured out for us to do that. Hell, we can even do it while Shelby's out playing poker, or whatever it is she gets up to when I'm not around." That grants him another smile. It's small, but he can tell it's genuine. "You've gotta let me to teach you how to make my _epic_ lentil lasagne. You know, from one planet-saving, animal-sympathising vegan to another."

Rachel lets out a small laugh, one which seems to expel some of the tension wracking her small body. "I think I'd like that." She pauses, taking another sip of tea. "I used to like cooking with Daddy."

From the way she glances timidly at him, Luke can tell that this statement means a lot to her.

"Yeah?" he asks kindly. "Well I'd love to be the one to get you back in the kitchen." Rachel's left index finger begins to run up and down the handle of her mug, her eyes fixed on the motion. "I was really sorry to hear about your dads, Rachel." That catches her attention. Two brown eyes flick up and watch him closely. "I know I never got the chance to meet them, but Shelby always spoke about them like they were the best men on the planet."

"They were," Rachel whispers, finger still tracing the mug's handle fervently. "And they seemed to love her too, which just makes this whole situation even more staggeringly incomprehensible." Luke can't help but smile at her word choice. "I can't work out how I'm supposed to feel."

There's a pleading look to her face now. It's rather unsettling to Luke; why does it appear that she's seeking guidance or permission to have the 'correct' emotion?

"Maybe you shouldn't worry so much about what you're _supposed _to feel and just let your emotions take their course." Her expression shifts slightly. He's sure he can make out a little relief amongst all the confusion. "There's no guidebook for this, for any of you… us. And I'm not going to sit here and tell you that Shelby's perfect. She's not. I think we can all recognise that she's made mistakes and that this whole situation is going to take a while to figure out. But I believe that it will." He reaches out a hand and lays it on her arm. "You're allowed to feel whatever you feel, Rachel. Confused, hurt, mad, whatever. You've got plenty of time to take a breath and allow yourself to catch up with everything. _You're_ the most important person in this situation. Not me, or Shelby, or your grandmother. You."

She looks up at him with watery eyes. "Thank you," she whimpers. "And thank you for…" A rattling sigh escapes her. "Yesterday, when Jesse brought me here, he was all 'your mom this' and 'your mom that'. And I _know_ that's who she is but…" She trails off with a shake of her head.

"I understand," Luke says, squeezing her arm softly. "Jesse's a good kid, but he does tend to get a little carried away. And I guess it is a confusing situation: Shelby's your mother, but it's up to _you_ whether she gets to be your mom again."

"Do you… Do you really think that?"

"I do, yeah ," he says firmly, watching as Rachel's face remains contorted in confusion. "I've always thought that you should get a choice in who your family is. I mean, I'm sure you can agree that biology doesn't always determine it, right?" She nods slowly. "Right, so you can choose, just like your dads chose you. And, all that time ago, they chose Shelby too, and she chose them. We should always have the opportunity to surround ourselves with people who bring out the best in us; the ones who can love the good, and accept the bad, and see past the ugly. Nobody's saying you have to make your decision straight away, but just bear it in mind, okay?"

"Okay."

Luke holds her gaze, smiling at how she appears more relaxed now. It's strange, in a way. Objectively, he's just laid an unfathomable burden on her shoulders by suggesting that it's down to _her_ to make one of the most important decisions of her life. But he can see that the thought seems to relieve her, stripping her of a dead weight. He notices it in the way she sits up just a little bit taller, or how she's no longer fiddling anxiously with her hands as if their very presence is an inconvenience.

His phone begins to vibrate against the smooth countertop and he sends Rachel an apologetic smile.

"Speaking of _familial choices_… Hi, Anna… Yeah, sorry… Sure… Really?…Okay, see you then." He places the phone back down. "My sister-in-law," he explains to the girl. "She was just wondering when I would be with them. My niece has a softball game later."

"Oh," Rachel says. Her face suddenly crumples in worry again. "I'm so sorry- I didn't mean to keep you…"

"You didn't," he replies with a chuckle. "In fact, you saved me from having to endure her terrible attempts at cooking breakfast."

He straightens up and walks back towards the kitchen cupboards, scouring Shelby's food supply. He eventually pulls out a protein bar and a chocolate muffin.

"It's completely vegan," he tells Rachel knowingly. "And _far_ tastier than Anna's vegan 'omelettes'. Don't ask." He laughs at the girl's wrinkled nose as he gathers up his keys and phone from the counter. "Yeah, take whatever level of grossed out you're on right now and multiply it by a hundred." Her grimace deepens. "Better… Now, are you going to be okay?"

Rachel tilts her head before nodding gently. "Yeah, I think so." She smiles at him. "Thank you, Luke… For everything." He goes to speak, but she continues, "And I'm sorry about yesterday… What I said about your kids- I was just… Is it…?"

"Don't worry about it," Luke says, patting her arm gently. "I don't have my own kids, but my brother passed away a couple of years ago and so I'm very close to my niece and nephew."

"Oh." Rachel frowns. "I'm so sorry- I didn't know and…"

Luke shakes his head. "It's okay. Honestly. Like I said, Rachel, I'm _so _happy that you're here."

She smiles appreciatively again.

"I really do have to go, though. Or else I'm going to have to spend the evening baking a large batch of 'I'm sorry I was late to your softball game' cookies for a grumpy six-year-old."

A sparkle enters Rachel's eyes.

"These," he continues, gesturing to his breakfast supplies, "are in the top left-hand cupboard. But, if I were you, I would seriously consider asking Shelby to make you her vegan blueberry pancakes. Unlike Anna, she _can_ cook a mean breakfast."

Rachel nods and finishes off the last of her tea. She takes a deep breath, staring at the dregs in the bottom of her mug. After a moment, she looks back up at Luke. "I guess I have a choice to make, don't I?"

Somehow, they both know she's talking about more than what she'll eat for breakfast.

* * *

_**A/N: Sorry about the wait- but hopefully the length of this makes up for it? I know that it sometimes feels like we're going in circles right now, but I promise that starting next chapter, the pace is going to pick up. **_

_**Thanks again for all the support- it means the world! Would love to hear thoughts on this chapter! Also- would anybody be interested in seening some AU one-shots for this story- a glimpse into what would have happened if S stayed? Let me know! **_

_**See you soon. xo**_


	12. The Room Where It Happens

_**A/N: Apologies for the delay in getting this out- life got hard and busy... Enjoy!**_

* * *

In the house that used to be occupied by the Berry family, there's a closet just off the main entrance hall between the study and the kitchen. It's not as big or as useful as the one which sits right next to the front door. That's the one which was home to the many jackets and shoes owned by the various occupants of the house. Rather, this secondary closet was mainly used for what one might term 'miscellaneous storage'. That is to say, it made a home for everything that didn't necessarily have a correct place outside its walls.

It's fitting, maybe, that both Shelby and Rachel had often found themselves in there. The former would discover herself hiding away in there occasionally - just in the moments when being outside of the closet seemed too much to handle. She would nestle down among flashlights whose batteries hadn't been replaced for years and lean up against the ironing board with the broken leg. Her hands would rest on her stomach and she would allow herself a few minutes, sometimes longer, to simply piece herself back together.

Rachel's visits to the closet were never quite so calm. As a toddler, she too would hide away in there, but then it was less about escaping the overwhelming pressures of life, and more about escaping whatever mischief she'd happened to find herself in this time. Growing up, the closet became a frequent ally for Rachel's tantrums and outbursts. It wasn't uncommon for Hiram or Leroy to find her sulking in there, bottom lip pouted, arms folded and a scowl firmly in place.

They never minded too much. The closet's door had broken long ago - back before Shelby had ever sought solace in there. In fact, they weren't sure whether they'd ever known it to function properly. The hinges were maybe wonky, or perhaps it was the uneven flooring of the old house, but the door never shut completely. There was always a slight crack which allowed the sights and sounds of the outside world to trickle in.

During Shelby's self-imposed timeouts or Rachel's tantrums, reality always found a way to permeate into the enclosed space.

The sneakiness of Rachel's infancy made a return when she was slightly older: she discovered that this particular closet was the perfect place to spy from. It was a game she had taken a particular liking to after watching an old _James Bond_ film with her daddy once. At nine-years-old, she wasn't sure who Pierce Brosnan was, but it had been fascinating to discover, from the confines of the closet, that it made her dad grumpy when daddy gushed over him. Soon, details unearthed during these games of spying became far juicier than Rachel could have ever anticipated.

_She leans forward, one eye peeking through the crack in the door and ears straining to hear every word. Her daddies are in the office next door but she's just about close enough. Rachel has long-since learned that the floorboards directly outside closed doors reveal her presence to her fathers; they'll never talk about the good stuff if they know she's right outside. The closet, however, gives her the upper hand. She remains stealthy, undetectable, the epitome of the perfect spy. _

_On this particular day, the recently turned twelve-year-old isn't sure exactly what she's listening out for, but she knows it has to be important. Over the past few weeks, her dad has left the room on countless occasions to answer phone calls or has been caught gazing down at the screen of his phone with unusually rapt attention. All she really knows at this point is that something involving a trip is going on. Rachel, of course, is hoping that the secret vacation is going to be some kind of Broadway extravaganza. Maybe they're finally going to allow her to audition for something! Now _that_ would explain a lot: it's always her daddy who seems most opposed to her getting an early start in her acting career. Perhaps that's why her dad seems to be keeping everything a secret from him too? _

_She can hear murmurs of low-tones, odd words leaking through into the closet here and there, but nothing that promotes any semblance of coherence. Rachel lets out a short sigh of frustration as she carefully nudges the door open just a fraction more. Finally, she can start to make out the rising voices. _

_"Are you _serious_?" she hears her daddy ask. "You've got to be kidding me, Hiram." _

_"Le-"_

_"No. No, absolutely not happening." _

_"Why not?" _

_"'Why not?'" Rachel can hear the rising exasperation in her daddy's voice. It almost makes her shudder. "Hiram, have you forgotten what those people did?" _

_"_Those people_ are my family!" her dad retorts. "You just… You don't understand what it's like."_

_Rachel's brow furrows in confusion as a mixture of disappointment and intrigue floods through her. So maybe this whole thing isn't about her finally getting her shot at stardom, but she has always wondered about her dad's side of the family. They never talk about them and, unlike the matter of her own biological family, it's never something that seems to haunt the edges of every poignant conversation. _

_"Hiram, I- I'm sorry," her daddy says softly. Rachel has to strain harder to hear him now. "Look, I just remember what it was like before. They were never… I just remember how upset you used to get about it - how they treated you and, well, you remember how your mother treated…" _

_The girl's frown deepens as he trails off. How she treated _who_?_

_"I know," her dad replies. "I understand your concern. I appreciate it, I do, I promise. But… My dad is sick. My dad's sick and I don't know whether he's going to get better. I also don't know whether this time is going to be any different, any better, than the last. But I have to _try_, right? They're my family and I have to try. And, if going down to Florida to see them for a vacation is the first step in that, then I just… I feel like I need to do this - make an attempt, at least. It's like we always say to Rach, right? 'Fake it 'til you make it?'" _

_"Right." _

_"And, I don't know, I would just really like your support in this, Lee. Yours and Rachel's." _

_"Of course," her daddy replies straightaway. "No, of course you have our support. We'll do this together, okay? I'm sorry. I was just… You know what it was like before with your mom." _

_"I do. I know that, but… She's my _mom_. Forgiveness has to start somewhere, right? You can't hold things against people forever and if she… If she's back, and she's willing to make the effort, then I want to try too." _

_"And I'm right there with you. Rachel and I will be right there with you." _

_"So I'll tell them we'll fly out once summer break starts?" her dad asks. _

_"Yeah." _

_Rachel straightens up as silence falls again. She can hear some slight movement in the neighbouring room and her own shaky breaths reverberating off the wooden door in front of her face. A part of her feels indignant. If they want her to go on this trip too, surely she should be consulted. No, she definitely should! She's twelve-years-old and they're _still_ leaving her out of any important decisions._

_Then, she allows herself to think more about the conversation; it's a lot to take in. She really has no idea about anything that has happened with her dad's family. All she knows is that they've never been around and they're not discussed. It's not that out of the ordinary, she supposes. Rachel has lived her whole life knowing that not everyone is able to see the love within her family; they just see the lack of adult female and immediately jump to their own conclusions. Is that what her dad's family is like? If so, she's not sure why he would ever want to partake in some kind of reconciliation. But, as her dad had said, he's talking about his family, his parents, his _mom_. At this point, Rachel doesn't know exactly what her own reaction would be if her own mother were to suddenly show up again. _

_As she starts to turn the idea over in her mind, she's suddenly startled by the sound of the adjacent door swinging open and she quickly scuttles backwards into the dark depths of the closet. _

_"Thank you," she hears her dad say. She can see the two figures moving out into the hallway, hands interlinked. "I know I'm asking for a lot here." _

_"You're not," her daddy replies firmly. "You're just asking for my support and that's something you're _always_ going to have. No matter what." _

_Rachel wrinkles her nose as she hears the familiar slurping noises of one of their kisses. _Gross_. They would never do that if they knew she were here, but she's just glad she can't actually see it; they've moved further into the room she's too far away from the gap in the door now. Finally, it stops._

_"I just… I think I would regret it if I didn't take this opportunity. And I… I don't think forgiveness is ever something you can regret." She hears her dad sigh heavily - something he always does when he's thinking hard. "At least this way, I'll know I tried. _We _tried. We'll have made the first steps to allowing her back into our lives and into this family." _

_"That's right," her daddy says. Rachel hears one of them take a couple of steps. "I- Hiram?" _

_"Yeah?"_

_"This _is_ about _your_ mother, right?" _

_"What do you mean?" her dad asks. _

_This time, she can make out her daddy's sigh. It's always shorter. _

_"This whole 'forgiveness of the mother'… I can't help but think… This isn't about Rachel, is it? You trying to set a good example for her?" _

_Rachel feels her heart start to thud more rapidly in her chest. She swears she can hear it too in the way it's sending blood swirling around her head. It's amplified by the fact that the two men just a few feet away have fallen into a stilted silence. _

_Eventually, her dad breaks it. "Forgiveness is always important," he asserts. "I do… I want to try for me and for _my _mom but… I guess you're right. I mean, Leroy, you and I both know Shelbs. I know this might sound crazy but don't you just have the feeling that one day she'll come back? I just… When that happens, I want Rach to know that forgiveness, that giving second chances, is rewarding and important." _

_Rachel's eyes have filled with tears which she immediately tries to blink away. She doesn't know why they're really there. She _doesn't _want to know her mother. Her mother left her with nothing but a sweatshirt and a penguin. She doesn't need her at all and she doesn't want to be taught some kind of lesson through her dad's own actions. It shouldn't work like that. _

_She's vaguely aware of their conversation ending, of someone saying they're going to go to the gym and someone else saying they're going out to mow the lawn. Rachel, however, remains frozen in the closet. She hears two different doors from the hallway open and close, but she just stares at the wooden frame of the one right in front of her face, puzzling over what it all means. _

Two and a half years later, Rachel has found herself in a similar position. She's gathering herself with a few, steady breaths as she lingers in front of the door to her mother's bedroom.

_Her mother's bedroom. _

If someone had told her when she was twelve that she would be here right now, she probably would have laughed in their face. Then, she might have cried about it once she was safely alone in her bedroom. Hell, if someone had told her this time _yesterday _that she would be here, her reaction would probably have been the same.

But she is. She's standing just a few feet away from where her mother is sleeping. The only thing that's separating them is the thin frame of this wooden door. And, Rachel supposes, that's not even strictly true. She's noticed that it's been left slightly ajar; from her current position, she gets a narrow glimpse into her mother's most private space. She's not sure whether the door was left a little open all night, or whether Luke just didn't close it all the way behind him when he left this morning. Yesterday, she'd fallen asleep right after her mother had come in to say goodnight to her. This morning, after spending a good thirty minutes or so staring at the ceiling of the bedroom she'd slept in, she'd hurried downstairs to take a proper look around.

The opportunity had been too much to pass up. She's inside _her mother's_ house. The place where a woman that Rachel has only ever really thought about in abstract terms spends her days. Rachel's still not sure whether she's really made all of the connections in her head; it just doesn't seem _possible_ that this woman, Shelby, is that same person who has always had a such dominating place in her thoughts. Part of her still feels like this must all be some crazy dream, that maybe, just as everything seems to be building to a numbing crescendo of desolation with her grandmother, her subconscious has conjured up some kind of alternate reality.

But it _is_ real. Rachel's pinched herself, cried, shouted, drank tea and been lulled to sleep by her mother and everything is _still_ real. It's still happening. Her mother is here. She's _right here_, Rachel reminds herself, peering again through the crack in the door.

With a final inhale to settle her brewing nerves, she lifts a hand and knocks once against the dark wood. The door swings open further from the soft force of her tap and Rachel takes a hesitant step into the room.

Like the rest of the house, her mother's bedroom is tastefully decorated with deep but soft tones. Most of the furniture is matching, made from the dark wood which seems to be a prominent feature in the house. There are several plants dotted about the room, stacks of books on the end tables and some contemporary art that Rachel's sure she doesn't fully understand up on the walls.

A tiny frown creeps up on her face. There's nothing _wrong_ with any of it - it's all perfectly nice and she thinks she even quite likes the modern but comfortable vibe it exudes. It's just… Maybe it's just not what she was expecting. She's not sure she could say exactly _how_ it differs from her vision, but she thinks that perhaps every time she had envisioned her mother, everything was always cloaked in a blanket of white. Kind of like how one might imagine an angel. Her brow furrows deeper at that; she's never once thought her mother to be an _angel_. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Everything just seems too _normal_, too _real_.

She shakes her head slightly at the stupidity of the thought until the sound of a deep breath coming from the bed draws her attention. There, lying among the white sheets, is _her mother_. Her dark hair is sprawled out over her pillow and her arms are clutching onto the bunched up covers on the empty side of the bed. Rachel briefly wonders whether Luke had arranged them like that to replace his own body.

She's sure she must look strange as she stands there for a long moment, just watching her mother sleep, but it's like she's been transfixed. Her mother is right there. And she doesn't have the feathery wings of an angel flowing from her back, or even pointed horns protruding from the top of her head. She's just got tousled bed-hair and a t-shirt which has ridden up slightly at the back. She's her mother, but she's also just a woman lying in her bed. She's just…

_Well, _Rachel supposes, _she's just Shelby_.

She knows she let the name 'Mommy' fall from her lips last night and, while she can't quite bring herself to regret that, right now, it doesn't feel right.

"Shelby?" she calls softly, taking a few steps towards the bed. When the woman doesn't even stir, she tries again, more loudly this time. "Shelby?"

Shelby's face scrunches in on itself for a moment as she rolls her neck backwards and lets out a gentle sigh. "'Uke?" she murmurs sleepily.

Rachel scowls; she knows her voice is sometimes a little deep in the morning, but surely she doesn't sound like a grown man.

"No," she says, "it's me. It's… uh… Rachel."

Shelby's eyes flick open and a dopey smile crosses her face as she looks up at her daughter. "_Rachel_."

The girl smiles back shyly. There's so much there - she feels her mother's emotions hitting her like a tangible wave every time she meets her eyes or hears her say her name. Maybe it's her own emotions too - she isn't sure. All she really knows is that she gets a little flutter of warmth somewhere deep inside her whenever this happens. It's a feeling she hasn't experienced in a while, one of sincere love and affection. But, with that, there's still a niggling sense of anger. It's like a forgotten injury left somewhere on her skin: usually fine, but when touched it ignites a brief moment of scorching pain.

_Why? _Why has it taken so long and all of this for her to get this moment with her mother? And why does the feeling of love not seem to cancel it out? It helps to soothe it, sure, but Rachel can still feel it blistering. She didn't know that love and hate could be so closely aligned, that they balance precariously on opposite sides of a tightrope. Last night, it had felt like she was being blown so violently from side to side that she couldn't keep up with it all. She won't let that happen today; she just _can't_.

She's still not sure which side of the tightrope she's going to end up falling on, which one she's supposed to after everything that's happened. But maybe… Maybe like Luke told her, there isn't a right answer. Not yet, anyway. And the only thing she can do to maintain her balance is to just keep moving forwards.

"Hi," she says, forcing her voice to remain steady.

"Hi, sweetheart," Shelby replies. Her wide smile barely falters as she sniffs in the morning air and rubs her hands over her face to wake herself up. She shifts herself up so that she's leaning against the padded headboard and gently pats a hand atop the covers next to her. "Come here."

Rachel wavers for a moment - nothing good came from them being close last night. But there's a hopeful gleam in Shelby's eyes that she can't refuse. And she has to _try_. Right? Her dads would want her to at least try.

"_Forgiveness is always important_."

And her mother seems to be forgiving her for her actions last night. Rachel had screamed at her, she'd shouted and cried and told her that she hated her. But here Shelby is, inviting her back into her arms.

Rachel's not sure that forgiveness is as simple as her dad had made it out to be that day. Letting his mother back into their lives hadn't been a good thing. Rachel thinks that with a clarity like nothing else. That's what started off a chain reaction, right? It was that that did it. Or, at least, it's easier to think that way. She _has_ to think that way, or else-

"Are you okay, honey?"

Rachel's head jerks up as she's pulled from her thoughts. She frowns slightly when she realises that she has, in fact, climbed up onto the bed and is sitting across from her mother with her knees pulled up to her chest. Slowly, she uncurls her limbs into a less tense position and shoots her mother a weak smile.

"Yeah, sorry, I'm fine."

"It's okay," Shelby says softly. She reaches out and takes Rachel's hand into her own. The girl can't help but to look down at their intertwined fingers. _She's holding her mother's hand_. "You just always look like you've got so much going through your head."

Rachel feels her cheeks tinge pink - is she _really_ that transparent? She shakes her head as she forces out a light chuckle. "Sorry. I guess I'm always a bit foggy in the mornings."

It's a lie; she's very much a morning person. But Shelby wouldn't know that.

"Yeah?" her mother replies kindly. "Me too." She begins to trace her thumb up and down the back of Rachel's hand. "Did you sleep well? Was your bed okay?"

"Yes, thank you." Not a lie. Rachel was so exhausted last night that she could have fallen asleep anywhere. "Yeah, no, the bed was great."

"Good- I'm glad."

"Yeah." Rachel finally draws her gaze away from their hands and looks up into her mother's eyes. The love there sends an electrifying jolt through her. "Uh- did you? You know, sleep okay?"

"Yes, I did thank you." Shelby shoots her a warm smile which Rachel can't return. The feeling of precarity is back; she's sure she's about to fall.

"Can I say something?" she asks quickly. Shelby looks slightly taken aback, but nods as Rachel sucks in a deep breath. "I… I know I was out of line last night. I don't usually… I'm not a rude person. Well, okay, I _can_ be. But I didn't mean to be… I was just… It's a lot. And everything happened so quickly. But I shouldn't have treated you like I did. And I… I'm grateful that you still let me stay after that. So… thanks. And I'm sorry."

She watches a small frown appear on Shelby's face at her words and immediately begins to prepare a further apology. She stops when Shelby gives her hand a tight squeeze and looks deep into her eyes.

"You don't need to be sorry, Rach," she says firmly. "I know last night… yesterday, in general, I guess, was a really rough time. Like I said, _I'm_ the one who has things to apologise for. So many things…" She trails off with a shake of her head. "But you don't need to. And you don't need to thank me for letting you stay."

"But-"

"No," Shelby cuts her off. "I know that… Well, I guess my actions haven't shown it yet, but I want you here _so_ much. All I've ever wanted is for you to be safe and happy, I promise. And…" She sighs as she tightens her grip around Rachel's hand again. "And I know this might be hard to believe right now, but I truly think that we can do that together. I know I've let you down. I get that. But it was never, ever my intention to do that, Rach. All I wanted… I wanted you to be happy and loved. That's it. I just wanted you to be in a family that could love and support you in all the ways you deserve an-"

"I was," Rachel says quickly. "My dads were great."

She knows that maybe she shouldn't be interrupting, but she can hear the guilt in her mother's voice and it's too much for her. And, if she's sure of anything in this world, it's that her dads were the best family she could have ever asked for.

"I know," Shelby nods. "I'm so sorry you lost them."

Rachel's breath hitches in her chest for a second as she feels the familiar stinging of tears in her eyes. The hand that isn't still in her mother's grasp grips onto the bedsheets and she starts to rub the soft fabric between her thumb and index finger. She counts the repetitions of the motion, forcing her attention away from the gnawing feeling in her stomach and the aching pain in her chest. When she gets to twenty-five, she looks back up at her mother.

"Yeah," she whispers, "I'm sorry too."

Shelby sends her a sad smile. "Can I… Do you mind if I hug you?"

Rachel hesitates, all of those feelings returning with a burning turbulence. _Love, anger, guilt, grief… forgiveness?_ She shakes her head and leans into her mother's arms.

It's so different from being hugged by her dads; while theirs were equipped with a steadfast sense of stability, her mother's embrace is softer. But she's there. Rachel is once again drinking in the strength of a parent. After so long without it, she finds herself relishing in the fact that there's finally somebody else with her.

Shelby pulls them backwards until they're both leaning up against the headboard, keeping one arm tightly around Rachel's shoulders. The girl peers up at her after a few moments and, as they meet each other's gaze, she feels something new - a sense of understanding.

"Will you… I promise not to get mad again," she says. "But will you tell me about what happened? Like when I was born and when you gave me to my dads and when you…"

"When I left?" Shelby completes with a sad sigh. Rachel nods shyly into her side. Shelby takes a deep breath as she sits up a little straighter, fixing her daughter with a level gaze. "So I guess everything started when I was fifteen…"

Rachel's not sure that she would have understood any of this two years ago. In all honesty, she's not sure whether she completely understands it now. But, from the unsure look on her mother's face, she realises that this maybe isn't the sort of story which has any kind of total clarity.

Two years ago, she wouldn't have grasped the idea of feeling that desperately alone. She probably would have scoffed at the idea of using a teenaged boyfriend to cover up the empty hole left by an uncaring family. She certainly wouldn't have been able to grapple with the idea of a loss that profound.

But now she can. She may not get it all, but she can recognise the pain emanating out of her mother's eyes as she speaks. She can return it with that same look of understanding.

"So then I went back to New York," Shelby concludes with an uncertain shrug. "And I don't… I want, I _need_, you to know, Rach, that I have spent everyday since then thinking about you and wondering what my life might have been like if I'd stayed."

"Then why did you go? And why didn't you try to come back?" Rachel asks in a small voice. She'd promised herself that she wouldn't argue back while Shelby was speaking. That hadn't done any good last night and it certainly won't do anything to change the past. But she still can't quite understand _that_.

Shelby sighs before pressing her lips tightly together. "I… I made a big mistake, Rach. By far the biggest mistake I've made in my life. I…" She turns to face the girl head-on with a serious look in her eye. "I think I should be honest with you."

_That would be a first._

"Okay?"

Shelby takes a deep breath; Rachel notices how it seems to shudder on the way out. "When I made that mistake… Actually, no. It was before that - it was before I even had you. I… I wasn't well."

Rachel frowns. "Like you were sick?"

"Kind of," Shelby says slowly. "You know how I said the relationship with my family wasn't great?" Rachel nods uncertainly. "Right, yeah. Well, some things had happened with them and I think that played a big part in it. But I… I don't know, Rach, my head just wasn't in the right place. I was kind of a mess."

"Oh." _That kind of sick._

"Yeah," she continues. "I'm not… I don't think it's an excuse at all. Your dads were the first people to really help me through all of that - I was seeing people about it all while I lived with them and even after you were born. But, yeah… It put me in a headspace where I wasn't… I didn't think I was doing a good enough job as your mom. I made a lot of bad decisions and, well, leaving you and your dads was the worst of those. I _know_ that it was an awful thing to do - I knew that the second I left, but I swear to you, it was a mistake that came from a place of love and just not knowing what else I _could_ do. I know that probably doesn't make a lot of sense…"

"No, it does," Rachel says quickly. _Too _quickly. She notices her mother's eyes flicker up curiously.

_Crap_.

"I mean if you weren't well," she continues. "I can sort of understand."

_A_ _horrible mistake born from a place of love? _Yeah, Rachel can understand.

"Right," Shelby nods. "And then trying to come back from a mistake like that? A lot happened and I just didn't know how to do it… I know how that must sound but I… I'd already drastically changed things in your life once and I didn't want to do it again unless I _knew_ it would be for the better."

"But you _can_ come back from it, right?" Rachel asks softly. "From… those mistakes?"

"Yeah," Shelby replies. "Yeah, absolutely. I definitely can. _We _definitely can."

"Okay."

Rachel watches as her mother bites her lip in deep thought. Her whole body still feels like there's a million emotions flooding it all at once but, finally, she realises that she may not be the only one feeling like that.

"Listen, Rach," Shelby says decisively after a moment, "there is nothing I want more in the world than for you to come and live with me so that we can try to move forwards from this together. But… Maybe what I told you in the office yesterday wasn't the right thing to do."

"What?"

"About filing for custody of you," Shelby says. For a second, Rachel feels her heart sink. Clearly, this shows on her face because her mother quickly reaches for her hand and continues, "I _want_ to. I want that _so_ badly, honey. But this isn't all about me - _you're_ the most important person here and I want you to feel like you've got a choice."

It's a nice sentiment, Rachel supposes, but she's not sure whether she's got a choice at all. She'd technically had a choice before, back when everything happened, and look where that got her. She doesn't know whether her grandmother will even allow her back in the house now she's spent a night here. And now she realises that she might not really be giving her mother much of a choice, either. Sure, she says this is what she wants, but clearly she's moved on and developed her own life that doesn't include her daughter. How fair is it for Rachel to come in and disrupt that?

"What are you thinking?" Shelby asks, watching her closely.

"I'm just wondering about choices," Rachel says. She shuts her eyes tightly as she tries to turn her swirling thoughts into something more coherent. "I don't know what Grandma wants and you're saying this - but everything just looks different - and Luke says it's _my_ choice but I don't know what I want. I don't know _how_ to know what I want…"

"Oh, sweetheart," Shelby murmurs, pulling Rachel back into her chest. The girl sniffles a little as she feels her mother peppering her hair with kisses. "I know it's a lot and it's overwhelming, but I promise you it doesn't have to be. I want it to be _your_ choice because I don't want you to feel like I'm forcing you into something. I know I have a lot to do to earn your trust but I love you so much, Rachel, and I want you here more than anything."

"Really?" Rachel asks.

Shelby draws back so she can look her in the eye again. "Really." She cups Rachel's face and uses her thumbs to smooth some of her tears away. "How do you feel?"

"Thirsty," Rachel answers, almost without thinking.

Shelby stares at her for a second before she smirks and leans over to her bedside table. She passes the metal water bottle there over to Rachel who peers down at it curiously. It's black with small gold stars scattered over the surface.

"Oh, sorry," Shelby says, "Do you not like germs? I can go grab a glass fr-"

"No, it's fine," Rachel replies as she unscrews the lid and takes a long sip. "I just like the design."

"Oh." Shelby grins. "Yeah, gold stars are kind of my thing." She laughs to herself. "Luke bought it for me last year because he said I got through too many plastic bottles. Now, he always says he's embarrassed when I use it in public because it looks like it was made for a kid."

Rachel takes another sip and smiles back at her. "Well I like it."

"Thanks, babe," Shelby chuckles. The girl feels her watching her closely as she drinks. "You know why they used to do, right? Give us water when we were feeling upset?"

Their eyes lock in another look of understanding at the shared moment before Rachel gives a small shake of her head.

Shelby smiles and reaches up to brush the last traces of the girl's tears away. "You can't cry and drink at the same time. It's physiologically impossible."

"Is that true?" Rachel asks skeptically.

"No idea." Shelby shrugs. "But it seems to work, doesn't it?" Rachel meets her easy smile with a shrug of her own. "So, did you say you spoke to Luke?"

For a second, she feels her heart-rate pick up as she thinks about the alarm she set off earlier that morning. If she were at her grandmother's house, she would probably be in big trouble for that. As she looks into her mother's warm eyes, however, that feeling gives way to a sheepish grin.

"Yeah. I accidentally set your alarm system off earlier." Her mother raises a quizzical eyebrow; there's still no hint of anger there, though. "Um… I wasn't… I didn't mean to be invasive, I just wanted to look around, I guess. But Luke came and found me. We had tea."

Shelby's eyebrow rises further. "You had tea?"

"Yeah," Rachel says. "He's nice. I like him."

"Yeah? I like him most of the time too," Shelby deadpans.

Rachel sips again from the bottle before looking back to her mother. "Um… Shelby?"

"Yeah?"

"Does he live here?"

The woman tilts her head to the side, eyes never leaving Rachel's. "Yeah," she says cautiously. "Yeah, he lives here most of the time. He teaches literature at OSU so he's usually in Columbus Monday through Thursday but… Is that… I don't want that to be a problem."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want that to stop you from coming to live with me," Shelby says. She slides her hand back into Rachel's free one. "Luke and I… I love him. I love him a lot, and I think the two of you would get on well too. But he and I aren't a package deal, Rach. Me and you - that's what I want to be the package deal. So, if you… If Luke living here is a reason why you don't want to live here, then you need to tell me and we can sort something."

"You would kick your boyfriend out for me?" Rachel asks, now lifting her own eyebrow.

Shelby smirks at her bluntness. "Well I wouldn't phrase it quite like that…" Her face sombres as she looks closely at Rachel. "But, yes. I want you here with me, I want to make this work and make things right between us, and I don't want anything to get in the way of that."

"Oh."

Rachel sits back slightly as she takes in the words. She supposes she must have, but she can't remember her grandmother making any drastic changes when she took custody of her. What she can remember vividly, however, is the way her dads used to bend over backwards to make her happy. This reminds her of that.

When she notices the way Shelby is still nervously peering at her, she swiftly shakes her head. "No, it's fine. I… I don't know what… I… I like Luke." She settles on the thing she's most sure of right now.

"Okay," Shelby nods, a small smirk appearing. "You know, I called him after I first saw you. He told me that day that I should just take you aside and explain everything to you. Guess I should have listened to him, huh?"

Rachel returns the smile weakly before shrugging. "I get why you didn't. I mean, I wish you had but I get that you wanted to talk to…" She tries to swallow the lump which has, once again, forced its way up her throat. "To my dads."

Shelby nods sadly. "I really am sorry, Rachel."

She doesn't specify exactly what she's sorry for. Whether she's talking about the delay in revealing the truth, or expressing her condolences for her dads' deaths, or just using that word to cover everything, Rachel isn't sure. Somehow, she's not sure it matters.

_"Forgiveness is always important."_

"I know." Rachel tentatively leans against her mother, who immediately wraps her arm tightly around her. _Forgiveness is always important_, and, maybe, if she can forgive Shelby, then they can start to move on. Maybe _she_ can start to move on. "Um- Luke said I should ask you to make me your blueberry pancakes."

Shelby laughs. "Oh, did he now?" She looks down at the girl. "Okay, I'll make you a deal. _I'll_ make you blueberry pancakes if _you_ tell me how the hell you managed to single-handedly set up a glee club in two weeks."

"What?"

"It took me about three months, a fuc- a _fair_ amount of paperwork, and literally all of my energy," she says, raising her eyebrows. "And _you_ somehow managed to do it that quickly. I'm impressed."

Rachel blushes a little and follows as Shelby begins to climb off the bed. She's impressed her mother - that's a nice feeling.

"Well," she starts, "it was actually relatively easy once I knew who the right people were to approach and what kind of thing they responded well to. It's all about adjusting your strategy to fit the situation and getting people to see it from your side."

"You mean you manipulated people into doing what you wanted?" Shelby asks, shaking her head.

"Well I wouldn't phrase it quite like that," Rachel grins.

"Oh _okay_." Shelby rolls her eyes and walks towards the door where she stops and holds her hand out to her daughter. "Come on, my little master manipulator, let's get some breakfast in you."

Smirking, Rachel quickly follows and slips her hand into her mother's. As they walk through the doorway together, she begins to chatter animatedly about just how many batches of sugar cookies it took to convince the jazz band to play for her.

000

**iMessage**

**_Saturday, 12th October_**

_10:23: Thank you -S_

_10:34: Don't know what you're talking about… -L_

_10:36: Sure you don't. Say hi to Anna and the kids for me. Love you -S_

_10:46: They say hi back. Love you more. -L_

**Text Message**

**_Saturday, 12th October_**

_07:34: Okay. I appreciate you letting me know. I think we need to discuss this further. I am available all morning. Linda. _

_10:25: Just making R breakfast. Will call later. -Shelby_

**iMessage**

**_Saturday, 12th October_**

_02:27: Shelbs you literally better be dead in a ditch somewhere. you ~never~ ignore me. :( guess i hope you're not actually dead. reply to me_

_10:30: Good morning to you too, Cass. Big night. Lots to discuss. Will call at some point. Love ya_

_10:39: actually hate you. it's too early and i'm too hungover for you to be being all cryptic_

_10:48: Grow up and take an advil. xoxo_

"Who are you texting?" Rachel asks through a mouthful of pancake. As Shelby looks up at her across the counter, her eyes immediately widen. "Sorry- you don't have to answer that. I-"

"It's fine." Shelby waves her off. "Just my friend Cassie."

She takes a long drink from her coffee and smiles as she watches Rachel happily return to her breakfast with a pacified shrug. She could _definitely_ get used to this.

"Did you see the photos in the box from a production of 'Into the Woods'?" she asks. Rachel frowns but nods. "Cass is the tall blonde one in those and our friend April is the shorter one. You know, Cassie proposed that we used you as the baby in the second act - she said we could pinch you to make you cry when we needed you to."

Rachel laughs and then suddenly stops. "Wait. You- you _didn't_ do that, did you?"

"No, 'course not," Shelby says, rolling her eyes. "I took you to one of the rehearsals and you spit up on Cass. She didn't like the idea so much after that."

"I was probably justifiably outraged at the idea of being used as a glorified prop," Rachel tells her indignantly. "Although, I guess it would have been good to get something on my resumé so early in life…"

Shelby smirks at the wistful look in her daughter's eyes. It's crazy that, after everything, Rachel has ended up being so similar to her. It's something that fills her with both pride and pain. As she sips again from her coffee, she forces herself to only focus on the former. Rachel's _here_. She's here and they're going to try to move forwards. That's what this is going to be about from now on.

"Are you not going to eat?" Rachel asks, gesturing to the large serving plate of pancakes set out before her.

Shelby feels her stomach flip at the sight of it. That's not exactly new; it's been doing that ever since she started to tell Rachel the story of her birth earlier.

She'd basically delivered the same version she had to Jesse, only without any direct mention of her 'issues' and with a 'high school boyfriend' who mysteriously disappeared right after conception. _That's about right_. She'd thought that lumbering her daughter with the baggage of one messed-up biological parent was probably enough for one weekend.

Truthfully, she hadn't been planning on divulging so many of her personal troubles to Rachel at all. While her actions of the last week may suggest otherwise, it's not something she generally likes to broadcast. But, as she'd looked down into her daughter's wide eyes, once she'd seen the pain and desperation lingering there, she had known that the only way they were ever going to move on was if at least some of the truth came out.

Now, however, she doesn't much like the idea of explaining to her daughter that sometimes Mommy just can't bring herself to eat. So, instead, she plasters on a smile and uses her fork to drag one of the now rather cold pancakes onto her plate. As she's forcing it down and Rachel's beginning to answer her questions about her first impressions of Carmel, her phone buzzes again on the countertop. Grateful for a reprieve, Shelby sets her fork down and lifts it to read the message. Rachel clearly notices the disgruntled look that appears on her face when she sees who it's from and she trails off.

**Text Message**

**_Saturday, 12th October_**

_10:56: Can you let me know sooner rather than later if Rachel is planning on returning to my house tonight? Linda. _

"Are you okay?" Rachel asks.

Shelby sighs and sets her phone back down. "That was your grandmother," she begins carefully.

"What? Why is she talking to you?"

"It's okay," Shelby says, trying to ease the panic written plainly across her daughter's features. "I texted her last night to let her know that you were and safe."

"You're talking about me?" Rachel says, eyes brewing with hurt. "Why do people always… I can handle it. Didn't you _just_ say you were going to be honest with me?"

"Rach, I _am_," Shelby says. She hadn't expected this discussion to go over too well, but she had thought that maybe this time, she might find herself out of the firing line. "We're not talking _about_ you. She was just asking me…"

"What?"

"She asked whether you were going to be going back to her house tonight." Shelby's heart breaks yet again in her chest as Rachel's face contorts. "Honey, I think it's-"

"So everything everyone said about me having a choice isn't true, is it?" the girl asks bitterly. She sniffs hard and stares down at her plate.

_Fuck_.

"No - it _is_," Shelby says quickly, leaning across the counter towards her. "I promise you, it is. She just wants to know what's going on. I'm sure… Maybe she's just worried about you, sweetheart."

Rachel scoffs. "Unlikely." She looks back up to her mother. "So what _is_ going on?"

"Well, I suppose it's whatever you want to do."

"But I have to choose right now?"

_Preferably, yes._

"I know it's a lot, Rach," Shelby says softly.

"But you don't," Rachel snaps. "Nobody has _any_ idea what it's like and you all seem to think that I can snap my fingers and come to some kind of miraculous conclusion. Newsflash, Shelby. I can't. I don't know. I…" As she inhales deeply, the girl's eyes clamp shut in frustration. "I- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"It's fine."

"No, it's not!"

Shelby watches as a thousand thoughts seem to run rampant around her daughter's mind, each one showing in her pained face and shaking posture.

"Rach-"

"I just…" Rachel sighs deeply before looking back up at her with watery eyes. "Can you just tell me what to do?"

Shelby smiles sadly as she leans forward to rest her hand on Rachel's arm. "I don't think you really want me to do that," she says. "But we can work it out together, if you like? Can I make a suggestion?"

"O-okay."

"Why don't you stay here for the rest of the weekend and we'll see how you feel about things after that?" She watches carefully as her daughter's brow furrows. "You don't have to make a final decision then, but it might help? And, in the interest of full honesty, I've arranged to see a lawyer on Monday to look at the custody motion but I won't go through with that until you tell me to, okay?"

Rachel taps her fork against her plate a few times, lips pursed in thought. When the metal clangs particularly harshly against the china, she grimaces up at her mother. As their eyes meet, she matches Shelby's small smile and nods once. "Okay."

"Okay," Shelby says, a wave of relief washing over her. "I promise you, Rach, I'm not trying to make this harder than it needs to be. I just… I really just want you to be comfortable with whatever you decide on."

"No, I know," Rachel says. She taps the fork once again. "Do you think I made the wrong choice last time?"

"What?"

"After… After everything happened, and I stayed with Grandma instead of trying to find you. Should I… I think I made the wrong choice." The girl shakes her head, staring down at her plate. "My dads wanted me to be with you and I didn't do that. They… they wanted me to forgive you, I heard it."

Shelby frowns in confusion. She doesn't know a lot about anything that happened, but she's pretty sure that Hiram and Leroy hadn't discussed her much with Rachel. But that's not the pressing thing right now. What matters now is trying to get her daughter to stop looking so distressed.

She gently squeezes Rachel's arm until the girl looks up at her. "I know it's hard, honey, but you can't think about it like that. You made a decision based on what you knew and what was happening right in front of you during a difficult time. I hate the fact that I wasn't there for you, really I do, but we can't change that. All we can do is try to move forwards, right?"

Rachel remains silent for a moment. Then, "Right - moving forwards and forgiving and trying. We have to try."

"And we will," Shelby says with a smile. "So, can I text your grandma and see whether we can go over there and pick up some things for you? I mean, you would be welcome to wear my stuff, but I've noticed that our styles are a little different."

She's glad that Rachel returns the gentle joke with a playful pout. "You don't like my clothes?"

"Didn't say that," Shelby laughs, raising her hands in defence. "I'm just not sure how many plaid skirts I own."

Rachel smiles as she returns to her food. "I do like them, I think. But, I don't know, I guess I just haven't been able to go shopping much recently."

"We can change that," Shelby says, grinning when Rachel glances up excitedly. "We'll finish breakfast, head over to your grandma's house and then hit up the mall. Sound good?"

"Really?"

"Really. I want to get you a phone too."

Rachel cracks a broad grin. "Are you serious?"

"Totally."

"But… What happens if I don't stay with you?"

Shelby sighs as the girl's smile gives way to another forlorn expression. Her happiness seems to come in tiny spurts which dissipate into the air with the slightest gust of wind. If it's exhausting for _her_, she can only imagine what it's like for Rachel herself.

"Listen," she says firmly, "even if you choose not to stay here, I would still love the chance to have you back in my life, Rachel. I know that's maybe hard to think about now because it's all so new, but I love you so much and I don't want to be without you again." She watches the corners of Rachel's mouth flicker upwards. "And, living with the burden of modern times as we are, communication is often pretty reliant on phones. Besides, how else am I going to make sure you're reading all my VA emails, hmm?"

"Okay," Rachel says. "Thank you. A-and I'm sorry about before… When I shouted at you again, I-"

Shelby shakes her head. "Don't even worry about it. You're a teenager, my love, it comes with the territory."

Ten minutes later, Shelby heads back into her bedroom. Out of habit, she doesn't bother to properly shut the door behind her; usually it's only her or Luke around. She walks into her ensuite and catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. _Jesus_. She's not sure whether she's just imagining things, but her face appears puffier than normal - maybe it's from all the crying she did last night. The dark circles under her eyes seem more pronounced than ever too. That should hardly be surprising: after Luke had fallen asleep in a relaxed post-coital bliss, she'd spent most of the night in a restless slumber, constantly thinking over the details of her conversations with Rachel.

As she stands there now, she's flooded by worry. Is she doing the right thing? Is she making everything worse? Is she doing enough or too much or… It's all too much. Anxiety brews in her stomach at the thought of heading back to Linda Goldstein's house, at the thought of screwing up this weekend and ruining whatever second chance she's miraculously been given with her daughter. It mingles with the remnants of the two pancakes she's forced down her throat. If Rachel hadn't been there, she definitely wouldn't have eaten at all. She can feel them taunting her every time she breathes, pressing uncomfortably against the waistband of her sweatpants.

Suddenly, she finds herself heading back towards her bedroom door. She sticks her head out into the hallway and can hear the sound of the shower running in Rachel's bathroom. She's already given her clothes to wear and it'll be a while until she's dressed and ready and… Hating herself, Shelby pulls the bedroom door closed with a click; the bathroom door soon follows.

As she kneels down in front of the toilet and brings her hand up to her mouth, she reminds herself that she's not actually _hurting_ anyone. Rachel will never know, she doesn't have to mention it to Luke and she won't feel so grossly uneasy for the next few hours.

After it's over, she wipes a stray tear away from her cheek. She shouldn't have done that. Rachel deserves better than a mother who cowers behind closed doors to do things like that. Still, Shelby's the only mother she's got.

000

"I'll give you three guesses as to who's in my house right now," Shelby says as she flops down into the familiar couch, holding three fingers up.

"Barbra Streisand?"

"Ugh - I _wish_." She pulls one finger down.

"Donald Trump?"

Shelby scoffs, lowering another one. "Wouldn't even make it through the front door."

"Rachel?"

"_Ding ding ding_, ladies and gentleman, we have a winner!" she says dryly, breaking into a steady round of applause.

Marty chuckles at her theatrics and raises his eyebrows. "Well, that's quite the development."

"You're telling _me_."

"Do you want to talk me through how that happened?"

Shelby sighs and reaches behind her to extract one of her favourite decorative cushions. She loops her fingers through the fringing as she tries to work out exactly how it _has_ all happened. The last ten days seem to have flown by. A blurry mess of tears constantly stinging in her eyes and emotional impulsivity. The last forty-eight hours, while slightly more relaxed, have passed even faster.

"Well," she starts slowly, "Hiram and Leroy are dead. So, you know, all those conversations we've been having about what I would say to them if I got the chance, yeah - they're all totally hypothetical now."

"I'm so sorry, Shelby," Marty says, offering her a sad smile. "I know they were very important to you."

"No it's fine." Shelby shakes her head, staring down at the cushion. "Well, it's not. It's not at all and, honestly, I don't think I've really processed it. I just… I thought that me seeing them again one day was like an inevitability. I don't know. I don't think I'd really realised that until I found out and I realised that that wasn't ever going to happen. But… It's kind of like I'm still waiting for them. And I _know_ they're gone because I see it every time I look at Rach but…"

When she glances back up at the older man and notices his confused expression, she realises that this is all going to require some context and quickly explains the situation to the best of her ability. It's jumbled and all over the place but, as she points out with a small scoff, so is her life at the moment.

"And now she's living with you?" Marty asks.

"Kind of," Shelby sighs. "She still hasn't made a final decision - we're kind of using this weekend as a trial run, I guess. I think I fucked up, though."

"Oh?"

"Like I could tell she was so _overwhelmed _by everything - understandably - but I still said I wanted it to be her decision." She bites down on her lip. "Like, what do you think that is? Do you think I'm desperately seeking out some kind of validation that she actually wants to be with me? Or am I, like, projecting from my own teenage trauma of feeling completely out of control?"

Marty lifts an eyebrow. "What do _you_ think it is?"

"I do pay you to help me sort out my thoughts and feelings, you know," Shelby replies with a scowl. When he remains stoically silent, she leans back further into the couch, as if rearranging her posture might be the key to shedding some much needed light on the situation. "I don't know. Does it matter? Can this be one of those things where we just accept it for what it is and move on?"

"I think it can be if you truly allow yourself to think like that," Marty says.

"Right. Great. Okay - I'll do that," Shelby mutters. She squeezes the cushion more tightly into her chest. "I just… A part of me still feels like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know? Like, it's _me_. And, not to be all whiny about things, but when has anything just been smooth and easy for me, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"Things are going okay. They're going _well_," she says, shaking her head. "We picked up some stuff from her grandma's house yesterday and like, yes we barely said two words to her, but there wasn't some huge confrontation about anything. And then we went to the mall and it was _nice_. We talked and shopped and… She's _amazing_." She lets out a laugh and looks up at the man. "I know I'm biased, but she's smart and funny and… And I can tell she's working so hard to give this, _us_, a try."

"So what's the problem?" Marty presses gently.

"The lack of apparent problem _is_ the problem," Shelby says, blowing out a deep breath. Somehow, it doesn't alleviate any of the tightness in her chest. "My daughter is amazing and we're getting on well. She and Luke are cooking dinner together right now - she seems to like him a lot and I know he already loves her. She hasn't told me she hates me for, what, coming up on forty-eight hours. She hugged me after I bought her a new phone yesterday and we spent this morning in my music room playing the piano…"

"But?"

Shelby meets his curious gaze, pressing her lips together. She does this in spite of the fact that she knows she's about to open them and let everything come pouring out into the room. There's something about this place - maybe it's the relaxed overhead lighting, or the patterned cushion, or the ever-present interest in Marty's dark eyes, but she can never hold things in for too long when she's in here.

"But I just know I'm going to fuck it up," she whispers. "And I know that by thinking that, I'm already making sure it's going to happen. I've got what I wanted, haven't I? Rachel's right there where I know she's safe and she seems happy but…" Subconsciously, she rubs her hand over the top of her chest. "But I feel like I'm treading water." She scoffs and rolls her eyes at herself. "As you can probably tell, I had the lifeboat dream last night. Then I woke Luke up to have sex because I needed some kind of distraction. Oh- and I've thrown up after every meal I've eaten all weekend." Marty opens his mouth to speak but she shakes her head. "I know. I feel like I'm back at square one. And I know that 'healing is a process' or whatever other phrase you want to spout at me, but I _need_ this to work. I need you to tell me how to look after myself because now I need to look after Rachel too."

000

Rachel's resting against the cushioned headboard of the bed she's been sleeping in. She can't, maybe shouldn't, call it _her_ bed. Not yet. It's bigger and comfier than the one at her grandma's house and now it's even made up with the new set of covers her mother had bought for her yesterday. But she's not sure whether she can call it _hers_ yet.

With every purchase yesterday, the woman had assured her that she wasn't doing this to try to guilt her into choosing to move in with her. Rather, it was because she could and she wanted to. Lying there on her new covers, in her new pyjamas and scrolling on her new phone, Rachel's not entirely sure whether she believes her. Or maybe that's not it. She _does_ believe that her mother wants her to have a choice; she's just not sure whether there really is a choice to be made. Her grandma took her phone last month as a punishment and it was simply never returned to the girl. She hasn't had any new pyjamas for nearly two years.

If her mother is right here, constantly gazing at her with that kind of love and eagerly looking after her, surely she doesn't, shouldn't, have to think twice about her decision. But what does that _mean_? Choices aren't supposed to be that easy, are they? Her dad's decision to forgive _his_ mother hadn't been this easy. But this is what they wanted her to do, right? She'll _always_ try to do what they wanted her to. Well, almost always.

Rachel sighs as she glances at the time at the top of the screen's display: _22:23. _She then opens her Messages app and looks at the time her last message went through to Noah: _22:13. _She's probably reading into it too much - she _knows_ she is - but it still hurts. She had thought that he would be happier that she's finally got a phone again and can actually text with him. Once he found out where it came from, however, that assumption quickly went out the window.

She returns to the article she was reading on a Broadway news site and tries to engross herself once more. It's fruitless. After a few moments of rereading the same sentence over and over, she locks her phone and lays it down on her chest, staring up at the ceiling. Finally, it vibrates and she almost knocks it off the bed as she hastily fumbles to read the message.

**Text Message**

**_Sunday, 13th October_**

_22:30: idk. guess its up to u but it seems weird_

Forgetting everything rom-coms have taught her about playing hard to get, she immediately types out a response.

_22:30: I know it's all kind of sudden, Noah. But Shelby is my mom. I think I should be here with her. It's what my dads wanted me to do in the first place. Besides, she's being so nice to me, I don't think I want to leave. _

_22:32: like i said up to u. but remember that she left u. now she buys u loads of new shit and lets u stay in her fancy house bcuz she feels bad_

_22:32: I know that. But don't you think everybody deserves a second chance?_

_22:33: idk i wouldnt give my dad one. _

_22:33: he left me and she left u_

_22:34: But she's back now. I think we both just have to try to move on from here…_

_22:34: and what abt when she changes her mind again? _

Rachel taps out several responses before deleting each and looking back at the ceiling in resignation. She doesn't know how to answer that because she's been doing everything she can to block that possibility from her mind. It's been easier than she thought it might be. Despite the reminders that she does have a choice, she's been beginning to allow herself to fall into a routine, into a sense of _normalcy_. Bad things don't happen when things feel normal.

Just tonight, her and Luke had watched some documentary about Medieval literature while they waited for the lasagne to cook under the promise that they would watch _Yentl_ next weekend. And earlier, Shelby had asked her whether she wanted her to make lunch for her to take to school the next day, or whether she would rather have some money to buy food from the cafeteria.

Her mother loves her. She knows that. And love? Doesn't love mean that she's wanted and at home here? Surely, _surely_, if she plays her cards right, she's going to be fine. She'll stay here with her mother and everything will be okay.

She's opening her phone back up to tell Noah as much when there's a gentle knock at her door.

"Come in," she calls, quickly placing the phone down on the end table next to her bed.

As Shelby enters the room and sees this motion, she raises an eyebrow at her. "I thought we agreed that you wouldn't use that right before bed, hm?"

Rachel grins back sheepishly. "I was just putting it off, I promise." She leans over to plug it into its charger and makes a point of sliding it to the other side of the table.

"Yeah, yeah," Shelby teases, walking towards the bed and taking a seat on the edge of it. "Are you all ready for school tomorrow? I'll get you up at six-thirty."

"Okay," she murmurs. The word is barely out of her mouth before a yawn takes over.

"Come on," Shelby laughs, pulling the covers back so that she can crawl down into them. As she has done for the previous two nights, she begins to run her fingers through Rachel's hair and the girl feels herself melting into the gentle touch. "So, we need to talk about tomorrow real quick."

"Oh?" Rachel says. She watches as her mother takes a second to think over her words.

"So I have that appointment with my lawyer set up - I need to know whether you want me to cancel it or not?"

Nerves begin to squirm around in Rachel's stomach; even her mother's reassuring touch can't dissipate them completely. This is it: decision time. A minute ago, she thought she'd come to her conclusion, but it seems so much harder to say it out loud. It makes it so much more real, permanent, or at least _hopefully_ permanent…

"Rach?"

"If I stay, this is forever, right?" Rachel asks quickly. Her stomach flips again as her mother frowns slightly. "Like, I'm going to get to stay here for good?"

"Of course, my love," Shelby says softly, leaning down to kiss the girl's forehead. "You know I want you here more than anything and, if that's what you want too, then I couldn't be happier."

"Really?"

"Really."

She hears it, she sees it in her mother's eyes and, yes, she does feel it to an extent. It's still all just hard to process.

"I…" Without warning, Rachel feels a tear dribbling down the side of her face. Before it can fall from her cheek to the pillow, her mother gently wipes it away. "Sorry."

"It's okay, baby," Shelby says. "I know it's a big change and it's scary, but I also know that we'll be able to work through this together, okay? I love you so much more than you will ever know and I promise you that there is absolutely _nothing_ you could ever do to change that. You and me, kid? We're in this for good now."

Rachel wants to say, 'Okay.' She wants to say, 'Thank you', or 'I love you too.' Instead, what comes out is, "Nothing?"

"Nothing," Shelby confirms. "You could shave off all your hair or join a cult and I would still love you. You could _even _tell me you hate Barbra and I'd still love you." The girl gives a watery chuckle as her mother winks at her. "Hell, Rach, you could literally kill someone and, if the reason was somewhat justifiable, I'd show up with a shovel ready to help you hide the body. I. Love. You. I love you and I want you here with me and nothing is going to change that, got it?"

"G-got it," Rachel stutters out.

She swears her heart has made its way up from her chest and is now lodged firmly in her throat. Her breath seems to catch on it every time she takes a shaky inhale and she can feel it sending all of her blood pulsing around her body. Her mother is still talking, she's saying something about going to the lawyer tomorrow and talking to her grandma and she's certain there's a mention of her dads thrown in there somewhere. Or maybe Rachel's imagining that one. She's not sure. She just knows that her body feels like it's about to shatter into a million tiny pieces and she can barely feel the warmth of her mother's touch on her head again.

"Are you okay, honey?" Shelby asks, pulling her back into the moment.

"What- oh, yeah," Rachel says. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just… tired."

Shelby nods, sending her a small smile. "I'll let you get some sleep then, baby." She leans down to place another kiss on Rachel's forehead; the girl wonders whether she can feel the sweat gathering there now. "It's all going to be okay, I promise. Things will settle down soon." Rachel manages to nod once as her mother gets to her feet and walks towards the bedroom door. "Come and get me if you need anything. I love you."

"O-okay."

"Okay. Door open or closed?" Shelby asks as she flicks the light off.

Rachel has always liked being able to hear out into the hallway at nighttime. As a child, she was deathly afraid of being all alone in the dark; she was scared of what might be lurking there. But she's a big girl now and she knows that the scariest monsters sometimes don't look like monsters at all. Sometimes, they're just the things which are trapped deep down inside.

"C-closed, please."

"Alright. Sleep well, honey, I love you."

The second the door clicks shut behind her mother, Rachel rolls onto her front, burying her face in her pillow and letting out the anguished sobs trapped inside her body. They're muffled by the fabric, but she can still feel them tearing her apart as they explode out of her mouth, her nose, her eyes. She knows she's being too loud. She's so _stupid_ for being too loud. Pulling the covers up over her head for extra protection, she realises she's been stupid all weekend.

Her mother loved her dads just like she loved them. She can see that in her eyes, too. The pain, the loss, the grief. Rachel can see it as clearly as if she's looking straight at herself in the mirror. There's nothing like that look… Nothing.

_Nothing_. But there's always _something_.

There's always a feeling, or a secret, or a mistake. There's always something. And, even if things seem like they might be okay, like they might be going back to normal, for a while, Rachel knows that that _something_ is always going to be there. _Always_. It sits like a rock in the pit of her stomach or like a weight pressing down on her chest. That one's the worst - when it sits there on her chest, right next to her heart, as she's trying to escape into the world of sleep. Somehow, for the last two nights, she hadn't felt that as much.

At her grandma's house, it was impossible to escape. Her bedroom there held all of the secrets, all of the _somethings_, she spent her waking hours trying to repress. Now, as she lies in another bed with her phone charging a few feet away, she realises that it may be equally as impossible to escape it all here.

But she can. As her sobs begin to die away, she rolls over onto her back and takes some deep, shuddering breaths. She can do this. She's been keeping all her secrets and doing it well; there's no reason that has to stop just because she's with her mother now.

Her mother who loved her dads just like she loved them. Her mother who made a terrible mistake born out of a place of love. Her mother who said that there was nothing Rachel could do to stop her loving her.

Her mother who would hate her if she knew.

Rachel knows she can do this. She's hidden behind show-faces and airy laughs and false confidence for nearly two years now. She can carry on doing that. She can be like the queen on the chessboard - she just needs to stay two moves ahead of everyone else. She'll shove everything else back into its place deep down inside her and slam the door shut. She'll close it, lock it, and nobody will ever have to see what she's hiding.

Rachel will play her part, the door will stay closed and then, she hopes with everything in her, her mother will never find out the truth.

* * *

_**A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Next one should be up within the next two weeks, I promise. Until then, stay safe in these scary times and please let me know what you thought! xo**_


	13. Little Miss Perfect- Part I

_**A/N: Hey... Hey... How y'all doing? Oop. Sorry. I know this is later than I'd promised.**_

* * *

The burden of physical appearance sits heavy on every woman's shoulders. It's a tale as old as time, a truth universally acknowledged that she will be expected to always present her best face to the outside world. 'Best', here, of course, refers to the one which is most conventionally attractive, the one which will advance her the furthest. Upon birth, an unspoken contract is signed and she resignedly understands that her outside will always bear the responsibility of portraying her inside. Unfair, perhaps, but it's true. Maybe it's inherent - ingrained firmly into the genetic code through centuries of human development. Alternatively, it's a learned behaviour, conceived and propagated through sharp-tongued comments from older relatives or the constant flee from the threat of male rejection.

On the night before her twelfth birthday, Shelby slept with her hair in two French braids. Even then, she understood that it was important to make an effort to look good. Countless hours of flicking through her mother's old magazines had taught her that, as had exposure to pre-teen schoolyard gossip. A good outside meant a good inside. Or, at least, it _suggested_ a good inside. And she was ready to make a good impression.

She'd done the same thing the previous weekend before she celebrated with her friends. Her own mother had been working but Mrs July took a select group of girls to the movies and then for ice cream afterwards. They'd even managed to convince her to leave them unattended at the ice cream parlour for thirty minutes; then, they'd met up with some boys from school.

_Today, her actual birthday, it's the family celebration. Or that's what her mother keeps referring to it as. Shelby's not sure how much she really considers it a full family affair; the people who will be pulling into the driveway any minute now don't necessarily feel like family to her. Even now, she's not sure that genetics are the best way to determine a family and, if that _is_ the case, then she feels the ache of who's missing now more than ever. _

_Standing in front of her mirror, Shelby pulls the ties off the ends of her braids and begins to work her fingers through her long, dark hair. She separates out the strands until they frame her face in loose waves. It's not quite perfect: if she'd been able to use her mother's curling iron, she's sure there wouldn't be so much static frizz. But that's out of the question. She can remember all too well how mad her mom got the last time she borrowed it without permission and she's already pissed her off once so far today. That's why she can't just go and ask for permission. It's only been a few months of just the two of them living in the house together, but Shelby's not stupid. She's quickly figured out that the best way to avoid trouble is simply to stay out of the way - blend in, create as little commotion as possible. _

_And she wants today to go well. She _needs_ it to. Primarily, of course, this is because it's her birthday. You only get one a year and, like everyone, she wants to have fun and enjoy it. It's more than that, though. Today is the first 'big day' without him - the first 'first'. Today needs to prove that everything is still okay. _She_ needs to prove that everything is still okay. Nothing feels okay; it hasn't really for a while, but she needs it to be. _

_Once she's as satisfied as she can be with her hair, she turns a slightly withering stare at the dress laid out on her bed. Its yellow fabric clashes horribly against the pink bedsheets and both make her pout in annoyance. They're both far too gaudy and childish; she's twelve now so she's supposed to be growing up and proving to everyone that she can deal with everything that's been going on. She's not sure whether she's been _sheltered_ from the events of the past few months so much as she has been purposefully excluded because people think she's too stupid and immature to understand. _

_So, if her mother has told her that she's got to wear the yellow dress her grandparents bought her for Hannukah last year today, then she'll wear it. People who are mature don't stomp their feet and kick up a fuss over the colour of their dress. She'll wear it. She'll be fine. Today will go well. _

_She has to give herself this same pep-talk all over again a couple of minutes later when she realises that she can't wear her training bra under the dress without the straps being totally visible. Sure, she doesn't have quite as much _there_ as some of the other girls in her class, but she still doesn't want to feel like some eight year old. But, with a frustrated sigh, she reminds herself that she's trying to keep the peace today. She needs to play her part._

_When she's dressed, she stares at herself in the mirror for a few moments, angling herself so that the stickers there appear on different parts of her face. She's always done that. Cassie and her use the stickers to see what tattoos would look like on different parts of her body. After a few moments, she abandons this juvenile practice and stands up properly to make sure that she looks okay. It's almost there. She reaches for the pink lipgloss one of her friends had given to her last week and swipes it across her full lips. _

_They're her dad's lips - that's what people have always told her. She has her dad's lips and his nose and his eyes and his hair and his complexion. The gloss is too pink for her, she thinks. Her mom often wears this sort of colour, but she's more olive toned than Shelby. _

_She briefly wonders whether it's her striking similarity to her father that has caused her mother to become so detached from her in the past few months. Or maybe they were always like this, maybe she just couldn't see it until there was no buffer between them. _

_She shakes her head as she screws the cap back onto the gloss and begins to look for her shoes. Her white flats will go best with this dress, she decides. And, once she's in costume. Once she's wearing the dress and the flats and the gloss and her hair is done nicely, she'll be ready to go downstairs and everything will be okay. After casting a brief glance around the room and into her closet, there's no sign of them. _

_Tentatively, she opens her bedroom door and pokes her head out into the empty hallway. She can hear her mom doing something downstairs but it definitely doesn't sound like anyone's arrived yet. _

_"Mom?" she calls, leaning against her doorway. After getting no response for a few seconds, she tries again, a little louder. "_Mom?_" _

_"What?" comes the muffled response from downstairs. _

_"Have you seen my white flats down there?" she shouts. Again, a silence follows. "Mom? Are my white flats down there?" _

_Shelby flinches as she hears the bang of a door slamming somewhere downstairs. Then, the sound of stomping footsteps. She walks towards the stairs and peers down over the railing. Her mom is now standing at the foot of the stairs, hands on hips and an eyebrow raised. _

_"What do you want?" _

_Shelby resists the urge to roll her eyes at the tone of annoyance in her mom's voice. Excuse her for daring to exist in the house. "Have you seen my white shoes downstairs?"_

_Her mom scoffs irritably. "Seriously, Shelby? Seriously?"_

_"What?" _

_"It's not enough for you that I'm down here making food for everyone?" her mom asks sarcastically. "Now you want me to become your personal assistant and run around finding your things for you?" _

_Shelby scowls. "Jeez, I was just asking…"_

_"No, actually you weren't. You were screaming at me from the top of the stairs." _

_"Sorry," Shelby grumbles. "I was just trying to get ready." _

_"Yes, and I'm trying to get everything ready here for _your _birthday!" _

_"_You're_ the one who wanted to have everyone come over!" she bites back instinctively. She regrets it when her mom's eyes narrow dangerously. _

_The woman points her index finger directly at her and, although there's a whole flight of stairs between them, Shelby still feels herself shrinking backwards. "Do _not_ test me today. I'm being serious, Shelby. I'm trying to do a nice thing for you but all I'm asking in return is to have one day of you not acting like a fucking spoiled brat, okay?" _

_"O-okay."_

_Tears prick at the corners of Shelby's eyes. She's not sure why. It's been like this for months; she should be used to it by now, but she's not. She really, really hopes she will be soon. Refusing to let her mom see her brewing hurt, she spins on her heel and stalks back towards her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her. _

_She slumps down onto her bed and brings her knees up to her chest, biting down on her lip in an attempt to stop the tears from falling. Today needs to go well, be as perfect as it can be. It's _her_ birthday and so it's up to _her_ to make that happen. Going downstairs with bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks is not a part of the plan. Once she's taken a few moments to compose herself, she pulls out a pair of white socks with a delicate lace trim from her dresser and puts them on. Then, she resumes her search for her shoes. _

_She's about to give up and pull out a different pair from her closet when her attention is pulled to her window by the sound of a dull thud. She grins as she steps towards it and looks down into the driveway below where her brother is waving up at the window. Their mom would probably kill both of them if she knew that Taylor's favourite mode of letting his little sister know he's arrived home is to throw gravel at her window, but Shelby can't bring herself to care right now. She returns his wave enthusiastically and her smile broadens as she sees her uncle stepping out of his car and walking towards the front door. _

_Sure, her dad isn't here. Her dad is gone and she's almost certain that the birthday card which arrived the other day will be the only form of contact she'll have with him for a while. But she has her brother and her uncle here and, as well as simply being excited to see them, she's grateful that there will now be a buffer between her and her mom. _

_Shelby retreats quickly from the window, stopping only briefly to check her reflection in the mirror one last time. Wavy hair, glossed lips, a dress that will appease her mother. It's perfect. She barely registers the feel of her socked feet pressing into the carpeted floors as she races down the stairs to jump into her brother's strong arms. She certainly doesn't notice the pair of white flats tucked under the side table in the entrance hallway. _

_Her perfect outfit isn't quite perfect. She couldn't know then the chain of events that would cause._

Nearly nineteen years later, she's determined not to make the same mistake.

When she looks in the mirror, two weeks worth of exhaustion stares tauntingly back at her. Still, it's nothing that an extra large serving of coffee and makeup can't handle. As her early morning playlist lilts out over the speakers, Shelby paints over the prominent dark circles under her eyes and injects life back into her cheeks with blush - being a woman has to have some benefits. Then, she takes her curling iron and begins to set her hair into loose waves, exterminating any flyaways with a spritz of hairspray. If only it was this easy to erase all traces of mistakes, to even things out, smooth things over.

So caught up in the repetitive motion of wrapping dark hair around the hot metal, she practically jumps off the floor when a pair of arms lock tightly around her waist. For a second, her heart hammers in her chest, a familiar surge of panic coursing up through her from the pit of her stomach.

_It's nothing. It's not him. It's just Luke_, she reminds herself, heaving out a frustrated sigh as she meets Luke's glinting eyes in the mirror.

"Asshole," she mutters when he starts to laugh at her jumpy disposition. She swallows down the remaining anxiety and puts on a pout instead. She can play along. "Would you find it funny if I'd burned myself?"

"Only marginally," Luke says. He leans down to rest his chin on her shoulder and grins at her in the mirror. "You look nice."

"Are you saying I don't usually?" Shelby asks. She shrugs out of his grip a little and continues to curl the hair on the opposite side to him.

"Nope," he grins. "Just thought I'd remind you."

"Sycophant."

"Guilty." He places a quick kiss on her cheek and she immediately reaches up to make sure he hasn't dislodged any of the setting powder there. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine," she sighs. She sets down the curling iron, switches it off and gently teases the roots of her hair with her fingers. "Sorry, it's just…" She turns to face him properly. "Do I really look okay?"

"Yeah, of course," Luke says quickly, frowning. "Better than okay. Why?"

"I just want to look nice," Shelby mutters. She glances back in the mirror and runs a coat of dark taupe lipstick over her lips. "I need to look nice."

What she means is that she needs everything to be perfect. She needs this day to go well and be over with as little trouble as possible. What she can control right now, though, is the texture of her hair and the colour on her lips.

"Shelbs," Luke starts gently, running a hand up and down her arm, "I don't think what you look like is really going to have any impact on what they say today."

"Yeah, I'm not completely stupid," she says, pulling away from him and walking back towards the wardrobe. "But… Well, it's not going to hurt to look nice, is it? I just want to make a good impression."

"You will," he assures her. When she turns to raise an eyebrow at him, he nods. "You will, I promise. Besides, it's only Karen. You met her at Anna's Christmas party last year, remember?"

"I don't really remember anything from that night," Shelby says dryly. Which, of course, is just brilliant, considering why she's going to meet the woman today. She flicks through her clothes and eventually pulls out two pairs of black pants - one slacks, one jeans. "Which?"

Luke has walked over to the other dresser, dropping the towel from around his waist and pulling on a pair of briefs. He glances up and looks between them before breaking out into a smirk.

"Well, if you _really_ want to make a good impression, I'd just go with what you have on."

Shelby looks down at her bare legs and rolls her eyes. "Har har."

"Go with the jeans," Luke says once he's finished sniggering at his own joke. "Casual but classy, and less like you're dressing to go to a funeral."

Self-consciously, Shelby tugs at the edge of her black turtleneck. "Is it too dark? Should I go for something more, I don't know, light… upbeat?"

"You're fine," he says, shaking his head. "Besides, 'light and upbeat' isn't really your style. You should just be yourself."

Shelby scoffs as she returns the slacks to their place in the wardrobe and begins to pull on her jeans. "Yeah, see that's exactly what we're _not_ going to do."

"Why not?"

"Have you met me?" she asks. "The only reason I'm going to a _lawyer_ today is because being myself equates to making piss poor life choices and destroying interpersonal relationships."

As Luke's head pops out the top of the sweater he's putting on, he shoots her one of his signature sympathetic looks. "Shelbs, that's not true."

"Yeah, it is."

"It's not," he affirms. "Look, you made some mistakes when you were just a scared kid and now you're trying to set them right. That's who you are."

"I think the 'scared kid' excuse expires after you turn thirty," Shelby mutters as she turns back to look herself up and down in the mirror. "But thanks." There's no point in getting snappy with him; he's not at fault here. She tucks the edge of her sweater into the waistband of her jeans, trying to ignore the way the thick material fits a little looser than the last time she wore them. "Sorry. I know I'm being stupid, I just… I have to go in there and tell someone I barely know about the things I'm most ashamed of. It's hard and… I don't know. I want her to like me, you know? I want her to think that I could be a good mother."

"You _are_ a good mother."

Shelby stares at him incredulously. "Don't patronise me."

"I'm not!" Luke protests. He walks towards her and wraps her in a tight embrace. "You _are_ a good mother and she will like you."

"You think so?" she asks, hating herself for being so intolerably pathetic in her pursuit of affirmation.

"I know so," he replies. He leans down to kiss her softly before tucking some hair behind her ear. "And you know that, too. Rach wouldn't want to stay here if she didn't think you were a good mother."

"Actually, I think Rach might just be trying to live somewhere where she isn't verbally abused and kicked to the curb for having a friend over." As the heavy feeling of guilt starts to slosh in her stomach once again, she glances down at her silver wristwatch and quickly pulls away from him. "Speaking of which… Rach?" she shouts towards the door. "Five minutes and then we need to leave, babe."

"_Okay,_" Rachel's voice comes back from the room across the hall.

"See," Luke says, cocking his head towards the door. "Ten out of ten parenting right there."

"I think your standards might be slightly questionable," Shelby tells him.

"No way. I'm an excellent judge of parents. You've met mine - they're awesome."

"Lucky you," she drawls before she can stop herself. When she sees that sympathetic look flashing across his face again, she quickly shakes her head. "Sorry. It's fine. We really don't have to get into that right now."

She doesn't have the time, emotional patience or mental stability to unpack that particular can of worms this early on a Monday morning. Especially not when she's trying to prepare herself to go and prove that she can be a good parent. She _has_ to prove that. Rachel, albeit maybe as a result of crappy circumstances and some gentle bribery, has placed that level of trust onto her.

So, while she feels as though she's being physically weighed down by anxiety for the day, she turns her attention to collecting up her belongings and checking through her phone. She already explained her absence to her principal last night, citing a continued family emergency. She knows she'll have to detail the situation in full soon, particularly once - _if_ \- she's granted custody of her daughter, but the generic statement will do for now. Checking that her classes will be covered for the day, she sends off a text to Jesse, telling him not to approach Rachel unless she does first. She's already violated the girl's privacy on the matter once, it's the least she can do to allow her to work through it on her own now.

Honestly, Shelby's not sure what her daughter thinks about the whole thing. While they've definitely progressed from Rachel being an imminent flight risk in her house, she's still certain that it's not going to be plain sailing from here. There remains something entirely impenetrable about her daughter; at times, it feels as though the girl is reciting lines from a script that she hasn't entirely memorised yet. Breakfast that morning had been a stilted affair. Shelby can't be sure whether the girl was simply feeding her own tense energy back to her, or whether there's something more to it. The two actresses had failed miserably at constructively improvising a steady stream of natural dialogue.

Still, Shelby can't exactly blame the girl. Putting on a mask, inhabiting a well-perfected caricature version of herself has always been her go-to modus operandi in unfamiliar situations too. As she once again checks her reflection in the mirror, analysing her appearance closely, she realises that she may well be pulling that same move.

"You okay?" Luke asks as he emerges from the bathroom. Shelby hadn't even realised he'd left the bedroom.

"I'm fine," she asserts, pulling her gaze away from herself. "Today will go okay, right? I'll be able to pull-off this whole 'being a responsible parent' thing?"

"You're making it sound like you're going to rob a bank," he smirks. When he sees that her face remains stoically compressed in worry, this changes to a more placating smile. "Of course you will, Shelbs. Because you _are_. I know you are. Okay?"

_He always has too much faith in you._

"Okay," she repeats, straightening herself up and taking a deep breath. "Okay. And what are you doing today?"

"Writing," Luke says with a grimace. "I need to finish up the review of the lectures I went to in London."

"Sounds thrilling."

"Right?" he groans. He starts to follow Shelby as she picks up her purse and heads out of the bedroom. "But, first, I want to go tell Jules all about the intricacies of the British postal system."

Shelby stops dead in her tracks and spins round to face him, a stern eyebrow raised. "You are _not_ about to go harass the postwoman?"

"Oh, but I _am_," he grins.

She glares at him sceptically for a moment before rolling her eyes and continuing down the hallway. "Whatever. Just don't come crying to me when she finally files a restraining order and you stop getting your lame car magazines."

"They're not lame!"

Shelby ignores him and stops outside the door to Rachel's room. It was less than five minutes after the girl had first set foot in there that Shelby had christened the room with that title in her mind. Still, every time she thinks about it, it alights competing feelings of love and panic within her.

_Now's not the time_.

"Rachel? Are you ready to go?"

There's some shuffling inside before the door swings open. A warm smile tugs at the corners of Shelby's lips as she looks at her daughter, recognising the purple dress she's wearing as one of the items picked up during their trip to the mall. Her kid is wearing something _she_ bought her.

"What's wrong?" Rachel asks after a couple of beats of silence. "Do I look okay?"

"You look… _perfect_," Shelby says honestly.

Her perfect daughter. Her perfect little girl. Her one, perfect thing in this stinking mess of a world. If only she had the perfect mother to go along with it.

She shakes her head to dismiss the intruding thoughts and smiles brightly. "Let's get going, kid. Can't have you being late for your first day at school."

_Idiot_, is the prominent word circling through Shelby's mind throughout the entire car ride, hands clenching around the steering wheel in frustration. It's not Rachel's first day at school - it's not even _close_ to being a type of first day at school. All it is is the first time that _Shelby's_ taking her to school. And that's because she's missed out on the other hundreds of school days Rachel has experienced. Because she wasn't there. Because she left. Because she was too much of a screw-up and a coward and-

"You're coming to rehearsal later, right?"

"What?" Shelby asks.

It takes a few seconds for her brain to make sense of the girl's question. Or, she supposes, it's not really a question. It feels more like Rachel's throwing a pebble out into the cavernous silence just to see whether it will echo. She'd told her multiple times at breakfast that she would be there.

"Yeah," she confirms anyway. "Yeah, hopefully this meeting won't take too long, but I requested the whole day off just in case."

"Oh," Rachel says. "Okay."

As they pull to a halt at a stoplight, Shelby takes a second to look over at her daughter. She's fiddling with the ruffled trimming on her dress and staring straight ahead, though her eyes look unfocussed.

"Are you okay, honey?" Shelby asks softly. She waits for Rachel's response with a tightness in her chest; the girl certainly doesn't _look_ okay, but she's not sure what she can do to alleviate that right now. The girl doesn't start to respond until the light turns green and Shelby's eyes turn back to the road.

"I'm fine," she says carefully. "I was just thinking about our need to prepare for Invitationals."

"Right," Shelby replies, somewhat unconvinced. She takes a deep breath. "You know, Rachel, it's okay if you're worried about today - about my meeting with the lawyer or going into school now that… Well, you know."

"I wasn't going to tell anyone," Rachel says. From the corner of her eye, Shelby watches as the girl's movements on her dress increase in pace. "I just thought… For now, anyway, for now we could keep it to ourselves. Well, us and Jesse, I suppose," she finishes bitterly.

"Jesse won't spread it around," Shelby assures her. "He wouldn't do that anyway and I've specifically told him not to."

"Yeah, okay. Whatever."

"He won't, Rach. He's a good kid. I trust him."

"Yeah, you've made that perfectly clear," Rachel mutters.

As Shelby flicks on her signal to turn into the school driveway, she steals another glance at her daughter. She wasn't imagining the tremor she just heard in the girl's voice; her eyes look like they're rapidly filling with tears.

"Rach," she starts softly.

"It's fine." Rachel sniffs and sits herself more upright. Her hands go to her head where they check that the clips she's used to pin the front sections back are in place. "I'm fine. Sorry."

Shelby pulls the Range Rover into a vacant spot, not bothering to drive around to the faculty zone. The second the engine stops, Rachel is unclipping her belt and reaching into the backseat to grab her backpack. Before she can race out of the car, however, Shelby gently grips onto her arm.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm _fine_," Rachel repeats tersely. "I said that."

Shelby sighs. "I know you did, baby, but…"

"But what?"

"But you don't _seem_ okay." She watches as something unreadable flickers dangerously through Rachel's eyes, her face contorting for the briefest moment before the mask slots back into place. "You can talk to me, honey."

The following, silent seconds seem to stretch out as they both hold the other's gaze. Rachel returns Shelby's pleading expression with one of practiced ambivalence.

"I'm fine," Rachel says finally. "Perhaps the fact that I 'seem' off to you has less to do with me and more to do with you knowing very little about me." Shelby does her best not to flinch as the stinging words cut into her. She does let go of the girl's arm, though, and Rachel's eyes clamp shut for a moment. "I'm sorry. That was rude. I simply didn't sleep very well last night, but I assure you that I really am fine. I hope the meeting goes well and I'll see you later at rehearsal."

And, while Shelby is still recovering from the whiplash brought about by the girl's complete one-eighty, Rachel gathers up her belongings and slips out of the car. Shelby watches as she adjusts herself once more, slinging her backpack on and straightening her posture. Rachel conjures up a smile that Shelby might believe had she not just seen the pain and anxiety plainly written on her face seconds before. Then, the girl begins to stride across the parking lot towards the main school building like she doesn't have a care in the world.

Shelby slumps back in the driver's seat, shaking her head in disbelief and confusion. She's not sure what to make of any of that. Rachel hadn't slept well? Is that a reflection on her and the home environment she's providing? Is it something she should be worried about? Well, it's too late for that. She's already worried. And it's not just Rachel's apparent insomnia making her feel like that; it's also the pronounced way she seems to be weighing up and overanalysing her every move. It's all too uncannily similar to her own actions for Shelby's liking.

She's also acutely aware of the fact that _that's_ how dropping her daughter off at school for the very first time has played out. She makes a feeble attempt to swallow her sadness. Really, what had she been expecting? For it all to go just swimmingly? Since when does anything ever go like that for her and Rachel.

_And whose fault is that? _a niggling voice in the back of her head asks.

She ignores it, instead forcing her attention to remain on Rachel's retreating form until she's sure that the girl is safely inside the building. Then, and only then, does she allow herself to fall into some kind of fantasy, to imagine what things might be like if they weren't constantly teetering on the edge of total ruin.

"Have a great day at school, Star. Be good, learn lots, I love you."

Yeah, in a perfect world, that's what she would've said.

_Would've, could've, should've. _

With a final sigh, Shelby grinds the gearstick into reverse and pulls out of the parking lot. Things might not be perfect now - they might never be - but she knows that moping around and dwelling on that won't bring them any closer to that point. She needs to try and she needs to succeed.

000

"Since when do _you_ get to school early?"

Rachel's neutral visage falters momentarily as the overly-chirpy voice blares into her ear and she feels an arm link around her own. She'd been too caught up in her own thoughts to realise that she's already made it to the hallway just outside her homeroom.

Because, _Since I somehow moved in with my estranged mother who just so happens to be our teacher and she had to get to her appointment with her lawyer to inquire about getting custody of me, _seems too long-winded - not to mention too life-uprooting - for a Monday morning, Rachel simply shrugs and smiles.

Sophie seems less than pacified by this and tugs Rachel quickly into the classroom. Once they're settled in their usual seats near the back, she turns to Rachel expectantly.

"So?"

"So…?" Rachel repeats, frowning.

"Are you seriously going to make me say it?" Sophie asks.

Rachel feels her eyes widening like some kind of perplexed comic book character. _How? _How could the news have gotten out _this_ quickly? And to Sophie of all people? Sophie isn't even _in_ with the elite members of Vocal Adrenaline; she doubts whether Jesse even knows her name.

She swallows hard and fights to maintain a calm composure. "What are you talking about?"

"You. Friday. _Duh_."

"What?"

Sophie shakes her head exasperatedly. "You skipped on Friday afternoon. I went into geography expecting to see you and you never showed. I asked around and it was like you'd disappeared off the face of the planet. You _and_ a certain Mr. Jesse St. James. So? Care to explain?"

Rachel's initial thought is relief. With all the tension that's been building up inside her body recently, it's gratefully received. Sophie doesn't know. People don't know. A flash of anger sparks up again when she hears Jesse's name, but, with a certain level of reluctance, she has to be appreciative that he doesn't seem to have blabbed.

_Yet_…

"_Rachel_!"

Sophie's exclamation is enough to attract the attention of the boys sitting a couple of rows in front of them who peer around curiously. She glares at them until they take the hint that this remains a private conversation.

Turning back to her friend, she looks just about ready to burst from anticipation. "Start talking."

"Sorry," Rachel says. "I…"

She hadn't predicted this. So caught up in the emotional whirlwind of the weekend and then filled up with the sickening revelation that had lodged itself in her stomach last night, she hasn't had time to come up with a plausible excuse for Friday's absence. Shelby had assured her that she would sort it officially, be that in her capacities as parent or teacher, Rachel isn't sure. She'd barely spared a thought for how anyone might notice her disappearance on a personal level.

"Did something happen with you and Jesse?" Sophie whispers, eyes ablaze with piqued interest.

"No," Rachel says firmly.

She forces herself not to think about their afternoon when Jesse spent the whole time lying to her, nor the car ride to Shelby's when Jesse spent the whole time lying to her, nor the eventual argument out on the porch steps when she realised that Jesse had, in fact, spent the whole time lying to her. Trying to push this thought aside, of course, ensures its stubborn presence. She can't expel the feeling of hurt which attaches itself to everything else floating around inside her head, making it impossible to string together some kind of coherent excuse.

"Are you sure?" Sophie asks. "Because you look pretty pissed." Gone is the gossipy teasing from her voice and, in its place, is concern.

It's the _concern_. That's what always gets to Rachel.

Immediately, she straightens out the heavy frown littering her face and forces a gentle smile back at Sophie.

"It's okay. Jesse and I… He… I needed…" The perfect excuse rolls around on the tip of her tongue, just out of reach.

"You can talk to me, you know, Rach?" Sophie says, leaning forward and resting her hand on top of Rachel's to prove her point.

"Yeah," Rachel says blankly.

People say that all the time, that she, that anyone, can talk to them. While she can appreciate the sentiment, Rachel's not sure whether it really means anything. Of course she _can_ talk to them. Of course they'll be drawn in through the unavoidable process of _hearing_. But there's never a following guarantee; hardly anyone promises to stick around after they've heard what she has to say. And yet Sophie looks so _genuine_.

"I know," she continues after a moment. "I know I can, and I want to. I mean, I will… I…" She sighs as Sophie's frown of worry deepens. "Look, there is a situation. But, if I promise you that I'm okay, that it's being taken care of, and that I _will_ tell you soon, can we drop it for now?"

Sophie hesitates for a moment, before nodding once. "Yeah, sure."

"Thanks," Rachel says, a breathy release of tension escaping her. "Oh- and look!" She pulls her hand out of Sophie's grasp and reaches into the front pocket of her backpack. "I finally got a phone again!"

"Wow," Sophie smirks. "Guess this really _was_ a big weekend for you."

000

**iMessage**

**Monday, 15th October**

**12:37 p.m.**

**_Luke: _**_Everything okay? -L_

**_Shelby: _**_Surprisingly yes. Well, as okay as it can be. Things are looking… potentially positive? -S_

**_Luke: _**_Potentially positive? -L_

**_Shelby_**_: That's as much optimism as you'll get out of me. -S_

**_Luke_**_: Oh, trust me, I know. -L_

**_Luke_**_: I'm glad it went well though, babe. -L_

**_Shelby_**_: As well as it could have gone. Better than expected, anyway. -S_

**_Luke: _**_'Me, Myself and Eternal Pessimism: The Shelby Corcoran Autobiography' -L_

**_Shelby: _**_:(_

**_Luke: _**_Kidding. It's endearing. -L_

**_Luke: _**_I love you. -L_

**_Shelby: _**_I love you more. -S_

**iMessage**

**Monday, 15th October**

**12:46 p.m.**

**_Shelby: _**_Hi. Booking in for Wednesday evening wine therapy please._

**_Cassie: _**_your wish is my command. all okay?_

**_Shelby: _**_Ish. _

**_Cassie: _**_good._

**Text Message**

**Monday, 15th October**

**12:50 p.m.**

**_Shelby: _**_Linda, it's Shelby. To keep you informed, I met with a family lawyer today to discuss a potential custody settlement for Rachel. There are a few logistics to sort through, but it appears that we should be able to settle things out of court with your agreement. Please understand I have discussed this at length with Rachel and it is what she also wants. Can we find a time to discuss this more fully?_

**iMessage**

**Monday, 15th October**

**12:58 p.m.**

**_Shelby: _**_Hi. Long time, no speak. I suck, I know. Hope you're okay. Don't panic (I know what you're like) but there's something important I need to talk to you about. _

000

As the school day draws on, Rachel begins to feel more and more normal; school is school and whatever's happening at home can't reach her here. She spends the first few hours finding herself occasionally glancing back over her shoulder, as if she's half expecting everyone to be talking about her. When this doesn't happen, and when nobody seems to connect Miss Corcoran's absence with her, the tension starts to ebb out of her body in muffled giggles and discussing classwork with her peers.

This is, of course, so long as she doesn't happen to glance up at Sophie during one of the numerous times the blonde is staring at her. It's like she seems to think that if she eyes Rachel with enough intense scrutiny, she'll be able to see right through her skull to unpack the secrets there. The smiles Rachel forces back at her in an attempt to dispel her concerns become gradually easier throughout the day.

It's not until the final bell of the day rings, that Rachel feels the familiar swirling of nerves in her stomach. Sitting in the back row of her math class next to Sophie, the sound reverberates through her with an almost tangible force. Deep fissures tear through the calm façade she's been carefully cultivating all day. Classes are over which means it's time for rehearsal. Rehearsal means seeing the two people she's been desperately relegating to the back of her mind.

She strains to make conversation with Sophie as they leave class and prepare to head down to the auditorium; she doesn't need to give her anymore reason to be suspicious that what's going on is related in any way to Vocal Adrenaline. Except it is, Rachel knows that. The glitz and glamour of the show choir was laid out before her and, like a fly to honey, she took the bait and sank right in. Her weakness, her desire to shine and to be seen for the talent she's worked so hard to preserve over the last couple of years, brought about her ruin.

No. That's perhaps an unfair assessment of things. Because Rachel _knows_ that Jesse didn't know who she was when he told her to audition. And, despite the lingering resentment she feels towards her mother for certain things, she can't the happiness and hope that's still there.

_Hope that would be crushed if she knew…_

"Are you okay?" Sophie asks, standing over her with a frown. She's halfway through getting changed into her rehearsal sweats, the loose blue t-shirt dangling over her denim skirt.

Rachel then realises that she's been slumped down on the changing room bench since they walked in a few minutes ago. Quickly, she nods and begins to switch into her own rehearsal clothes. She doesn't miss the skeptical look being thrown her way by Sophie, but she ignores it and tries to get back on track with the rest of girls.

She's tying her hair back into a high ponytail when there's a loud knock at the door and a male voice calls into the room.

"Is everyone dressed?"

Rachel glances around. Most of the others have already headed out to go and stretch onstage; the remaining few appear rather perturbed by the potential intruder.

"Fuck off, Jesse," Cami shouts over her shoulder from where she's standing in front of the mirror. "This is the _girls_' changing room, you perv."

"That's why I asked whether everyone was dressed, _Camilla_," Jesse shoots back, the sharpness in his voice somewhat weakened by the muffling door.

No one answers and, instead, they all simply carry on with their business. There's only a few seconds of peace before the door swings open and Jesse strides into the room, hand loosely covering his eyes.

"Get out!" Cami yells. She flings a can of hairspray at him which misses its target and almost hits two sophomore girls as they scurry out of the room.

Jesse pouts and glares at her. Rachel swallows hard, barely hearing the ensuing bickering between the two. The way he's acting now reminds her far too much of the last time she saw him on Friday evening, when he had reluctantly trudged into Shelby's kitchen so that Rachel herself could be marched down into the living room. After spending a full day without being cornered by him, she'd thought that maybe her mother was right, that he really would leave her alone and not ask questions.

She's been stupid; in a way, it was Jesse's persistence and nosiness which landed them in this situation. She should have known he wouldn't back off that easily.

"What do you even want?" Cami asks, folding her arms over her chest.

Jesse looks over the girl's shoulder and makes direct eye-contact with Rachel, who immediately ducks her head and resumes shoving her belongings back into her bag. "I just need to talk to Rach."

Rachel feels her cheeks growing warm as Cami now also turns to look at her. The other stragglers have made a quick escape somewhere around the time Cami was attempting to shove Jesse back out the door and the three are now the only occupants of the changing room.

"And you had to do that in _here_?" she asks.

"Yes. Why do you care?"

"Because she's new, and she's a freshman, and you're _you_."

Rachel hangs her duffel up on one of the spare hooks and wonders whether it's too late to make a break for it right past them.

"Just go. It's fine," Jesse says, jerking his head towards the door.

Cami glances back at Rachel, eyebrows raised in a question of consent. Resigning herself, Rachel nods back - she's already proven to herself and to Jesse that she can handle him, after all. The older girl sends her a reassuring smile before squaring up to Jesse.

"Don't be a dick, St. James."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Cami flounces past him, pausing in the doorway. "I'm still telling Miss C that you barged in here."

"Snitches get stitches," Jesse calls after her. Then, grinning, he turns to Rachel. "And people call _us_ dramatic."

Rachel doesn't meet his smile. Instead, she takes up a similar stance to Cami, standing up to her full height and folding her arms. "Was all that really necessary?"

Jesse smirks. "You know me, always like to make an entrance."

"What do you want, Jesse?" she asks coolly, willing her voice to take on a confidence not supported by her racing heart.

"_Relax_," Jesse says, "I just wanted to see if you're doing okay?"

Rachel eyes him carefully. It's so strange to her that it's now everyone wants to ask her that. She's spent the last two years precariously trying to find her footing in a world made of quicksand and very few people seemed to care how she was doing then. And _now_, now she's supposedly obtained some kind of fairytale happy ending, now she's in a house where someone tells her she's loved before she goes to sleep, _now_ people want to check that she's okay.

She should be more than okay, right? She's just… not sure. And that's what's making everything so much harder. Her show face keeps slipping out of place in this new, unfamiliar role. A shift in the script and she's gone from a poor man's little orphan Annie to… Well, whatever _this_ is. How is she supposed to convince the world she's the perfect version of 'this' when she's not even sure what _'this'_ is?

"I'm going to take that as a 'no'," Jesse says.

"What?" Rachel shakes her head. "No, I'm _fine_," she asserts for what feels like the hundredth time today. "Besides, Shelby said that she told you to stay away from me." Jesse's head droops towards the floor. "What's that? You don't always follow her instructions like an adoring little puppy?"

"I…" Jesse frowns back up at her. "I really just wanted to check in, Rach. I don't know. I can't help but feel like some of this is my fault."

Rachel scoffs. "Are you being _serious_ right now? Of _course_ it's _your fault_!"

"Rach-"

"No," she snaps. "It really, really is your fault! You _knew_ what being in Vocal Adrenaline means to me and you- and you used that as fuel in some kind of sick game to get into Shelby's good books. And, you know what, Jesse? Your behaviour was… was deplorable and contemptible and…" She trails off with her face flushing and her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Okay," Jesse says slowly. "I don't know what all of those words mean, but they don't sound nice." Rachel rolls her eyes. "Look, I really didn't mean to do anything wrong. I wanted to help you - both of you. I _told_ Shelby that I didn't want you to get hurt."

"What? In one of your secret little meetings the two of you were having behind my back?"

"Rach, it wasn't like that!"

"Then what _was_ it like?" Rachel shouts, her foot stamping down on the floor of its own volition. "Because you did. You _did_ hurt me. You knew for all that time and you didn't come to me to tell me the truth. Why? Why wouldn't you…?" She's trying as hard as she can now to blink away the tears stinging the corners of her eyes. "I thought we were friends."

It's the same, broken statement she made on Friday night. And Jesse doesn't detour from the script, either.

"We _are_ friends," he says gently, stepping towards her. "We are. And I'm really sorry that I hurt you, Rachel. I am. I just… Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." _One hundred and one._

"Okay." He pauses, biting on his lip. "And you're okay at Shelby's, you're happy there?"

Rachel softens a little at the genuine concern emanating out of his voice. She always does. "Yes. I… I think I will be… Happy, you know?"

"Good," Jesse smiles. "That's great. I think you will be too. Shelby's great - she really is. I know she can come off like she's just this cold and strict person, but she's not at all once you get to know her. She's the best. Seriously, the best. Like she'll drop anything and everything to help the people she loves, you know? I owe her so much. And Luke. God - Luke's _so_ great. You met him, right?"

Rachel nods silently, a frown beginning to form once more.

"They're the best, Rachel, I'm telling you. And you and Shelby have so much in common. You've been down to the music room, right? It's kind of my idea of heaven. I'm sure Shelby would probably give you some private lessons if you asked, too."

It shouldn't come as a surprise that Jesse's willing to sing her mother's praises. He did all of this for her, after all. But it still hurts. It hurts in a way that's nowhere near justifiable. Rachel knows her mother and Jesse are close. She knew that he would have been granted an intimate look at her life that few other students, or people generally, for that matter, get to see. But to hear it all laid out for her? To hear that her mother and Luke, her tentative second attempt at a family, have already been there for Jesse when they weren't for her? It hurts.

It shouldn't, but it does.

"Okay. Sure," she forces out.

Jesse notices her sudden coolness and eyes her cautiously. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"Clearly there's something wrong," he prods.

"Jesse, it's fine. Leave it," Rachel says as she moves towards the door. She needs out of here. Now. Before the sight of Jesse's face exacerbates the pain in her chest even more.

"No." He grabs onto her hand and spins her back around. "What is it? What did I do now?"

"Nothing."

"_Rachel._"

"Let me go!"

"Not until you tell me what's wrong!"

Rachel blows out a deep breath and turns back to face the boy with blazing eyes. "You really want to know what's wrong, Jesse? Do you have any idea how hard I'm trying right now to figure out what I'm supposed to be doing? Feeling? Thinking? And then you come in here reminding me that _my mom _likes you better than she likes me. And that you know her better than I do. And that she probably didn't even care that she wasn't in my life because she had _you_ instead."

Jesse's mouth gapes open. "Rachel, that's…"

"Not true," a voice finishes from the doorway.

Somewhere in the midsts of Rachel's shouting, they've both failed to notice the door swinging open. When Rachel looks up, her tear-filled eyes meeting her mother's equally sad ones, even more blood seems to rush up to her burning cheeks. She didn't mean to let any of that slip out. Not to Jesse and _especially_ not to her mother.

Shelby steps into the room, her heeled boots clacking loudly against the floor and breaking the deathly silence. She looks between the two, frazzled teenagers who both immediately drop their faces towards the ground.

"What's going on in here?" she asks, an eyebrow cocked. "You're both missing warm-ups."

Sparing Jesse a short but murderous glare, Rachel heads for the door again. "Sorry," she mutters to her mother on her way past.

She doesn't make it much further. Shelby reaches out and wraps her hand around the top of Rachel's arm. It's not overly tight, but there's something so authoritative about the touch that Rachel comes to a halt.

"Wait," Shelby says firmly. "I want to know what's happening."

Rachel sniffs and stares down at her dance shoes. Why is her mother making them go back over this? She walked in, she heard it, she _knows_.

"Jess?" Shelby prompts after a long beat of silence.

Rachel does her best to muffle the irritable scoff that erupts out of her throat. _Of course_ Shelby only cares about _his_ side of the story. It tracks perfectly.

"I'm sorry," Jesse mumbles.

"That's not an answer to my question."

The boy shrugs exaggeratedly. "I just wanted to make sure that Rachel was okay after, well, you _know_."

"Jesse," Shelby sighs. The hand that isn't still holding onto Rachel reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose. "What part of 'Please give Rachel some space' wasn't clear to you?"

"It's not that I didn't understand…"

"Oh, it was just a deliberate decision to ignore me? That's much better."

"_Shelby_," he begins in a whine.

She lifts a hand to cut him off. "Not now. I need you to please go and take over vocal warm-ups."

"But-"

"Now please, Jesse."

"Fine," he grumbles. "But I'm doing _Love On Top_ key changes as a warm-up."

In their still close proximity, Rachel feels her mother emit a breathy laugh and can't help the pang of hurt that ripples through her chest once more.

"Fine," Shelby says, sobering quickly.

She lets go of Rachel and moves to give Jesse a gentle shove out of the door. The girl doesn't miss how this involves a fond squeeze of his shoulders. She makes the quick decision to follow Jesse but is stopped once more by a grip on her arm.

"Nice try," Shelby quips, leading her towards the nearest bench and jerking her head towards it.

"But now _I'm_ going to miss warm-ups," Rachel reasons. _That, and the fact that it's _beyond_ humiliating to be stuck here with you after that._

"Sounded to me like you were already pretty well warmed-up," Shelby teases gently. Rachel slumps down onto the bench, head ducking in embarrassment. "Now, can you tell me what's up?" The girl remains silent, choosing instead to wipe the last tears out from under her eyes. Maybe if her mother sees her as piteous and weak, she'll stop prying. No such luck. "Rachel, we need to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about," Rachel says. "I'm fine."

"Nope."

Rachel looks up at her mother. "What?"

"Nope," Shelby repeats. She squats down so that she's at eye-level with the girl. "You pulled that one on me this morning and I'm afraid it's not going to work twice in one day."

Rachel squirms sheepishly. "I'm sorry I ran out of the car," she says.

"Thank you," Shelby replies. Rachel glances up at her with a confused frown. Nearly every other apology she's made to her mother so far has been met with the assurance that she hasn't done anything wrong. Or that her actions were justifiable. They've never been so readily accepted. "Don't you think it would have been better to be honest with me about how you were feeling this morning rather than bottling it all up until now?"

"I… I didn't…"

"I think you did, sweetheart," Shelby says softly. "And I can understand why - you've been doing that for a long time now, I think. But do you remember that we promised to be honest with each other?" Rachel bites her lip and nods. "Okay, so can we try that please?"

"Here? Now?"

Shelby sighs and looks over her shoulder at the closed door. Turning back to her daughter, she rests her hands on the tops of the girl's knees and smiles. "You might be right. But, I have a couple of things I need to say and I need you to really try to listen, okay?"

"Okay," Rachel shrugs. With her mother so close to her, it's hard to do anything to put her guard back up.

"Let's talk about Jesse." The way Rachel's body immediately tenses is involuntary. Likewise is the way she relaxes into the calming feel of her mother's hands as they start to gently rub on her knees. "Jesse and I are close and we have been since his first year on the team. I love Jesse and I do consider him a part of my family. But, Rachel," she pauses to meet her daughter's eyes earnestly, "the way I feel about Jesse, how I think about him, is so totally separate from how I feel about you. You're my daughter, Rach. You're my perfect shining star and nobody in the world could ever replace you. You're it, and I need you to hear that. I love you so much."

Rachel can feel her bottom lip trembling as she stares into her mother's eyes. "B-but Jesse knows you and you know him and…"

"That's true," Shelby says slowly. "But can I tell you why? Well, part of the reason why." Rachel nods. "Jesse reminds me a lot, too much, of myself. You remember how I told you that, even before I was pregnant with you, my relationship with my family was hard? Well, unfortunately, Jesse can relate a lot to that. And you know what really changed things around for me? You and your dads."

As a fresh wave of tears spill down Rachel's cheeks, her stomach twists horribly. _Her dads_. Her mother was so close to her dads. They did so much for her. And now…

"So," Shelby continues, "the way I am with Jesse, that was never, ever about trying to replace you, honey. It's more like… I don't know. It's more like me trying to put some of that good energy back into the universe. Does that make sense?"

"Yes," Rachel whispers. And it does. It might not erase all the pain and, yes, jealousy she feels, but she can understand it. She knows she would also always try to emulate the way her dads were.

"Okay good," Shelby says, a relieved smile crossing her face. "And you hear me when I say that I love you more than anyone else on this whole plant and nothing will ever change that?"

_That's not true. That will _never _be true._

"I hear you."

"Do you believe me?" Rachel falters, her lack of response conveying her clear answer. Shelby smiles sadly at her as she stands back up and leans across to press a kiss onto Rachel's forehead. "We'll work on that."

"Okay," the girl says. And _she'll_ work on making her belief of that believable. "Can we go to rehearsal now?"

Shelby chuckles. "Of course we can, babe."

Just as Rachel nears the door, for the third time in just a few minutes, she's pulled back by her mother. Shelby spins her round and gently wipes her fingers under her eyes, clearing away any leftover tears. Then, she licks her thumb and starts to scrub at the slight lipstick mark left on Rachel's forehead.

"Ew, _Shelby_," Rachel whines, pulling away and furiously wiping at the spot herself.

Shelby just shoots her a devious smirk. "I have _always_ wanted to do that."

* * *

_**A/N: Me? Splitting chapters into two parts because they start to become obnoxiously long? Never. I'm trying to write my final year university dissertation at the moment but, since I have a lot of it written already, I promise I'll try to get the next part up ASAP. **_

_**J, I know this isn't exactly what you ordered from this song, but I hope I made it up to you. **_

_**Spawn, I'm alive. Reign in the search party. ILY**_

_**As always, I would love to know what you thought! xo**_


	14. Little Miss Perfect- Part II

_**A/N- Hi. Apologies. I have no excuse other than the fact that I downloaded the Animal Crossing phone game and my only source of validation now come from pleasing my animals. Enjoy.**_

* * *

The first sight Rachel is treated to when she steps through the doors of the auditorium alongside her mother is Jesse pacing on top of the closed grand piano. His arms flail in wild gesticulations towards his less than enthused teammates as they squeak out an almost inaudibly high chorus of Beyoncé's 'Love On Top'.

"Oh dear God," Rachel hears Shelby groan from next to her. The woman clamps a hand to her forehead and shuts her eyes in momentary despair. "St. James, that is a thirty thousand dollar instrument. Off. _Now_. Andrea, take over leading scales please. And could all of you please take a moment to remember that screeching is a different vocal practice from singing? It's not one we're ever aiming for here."

"Bet you're wishing we'd tabled that talk now, huh?" Rachel whispers.

"Never," Shelby replies with a sardonic smile. "You're worth it, babe."

Rachel opens her mouth to question her mother's sanity - she's not sure _anyone_ could ever be worth enduring this - when she's interrupted by a voice from behind them.

"Oh, _there_ you are, Shelby! We were beginning to give up hope," a man Rachel doesn't recognise booms. He's tall and broad, and flanked on either side by two other suited men.

Though it's a muted movement, she notices the way her mother stiffens a little as they approach, how she sucks in a deep breath before plastering on a tight smile.

"Mr. Price," she greets. "Apologies for the delay, I needed to speak with my- with my newest team member, Rachel." She pats Rachel gently on the back and turns to her. "Rachel, this is Mr. Price. He coordinates the booster club."

Despite having spent only one weekend at Shelby's house, Rachel has already become somewhat accustomed to her mother's extensive rants about the 'bourgeoisie' booster club. That explains the almost painful strain on Shelby's face now.

In the auditorium, her show face is easy to activate. Beaming, Rachel turns to the man and sticks her hand out. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I'm extremely honoured to be a part of such a prestigious team."

Mr. Price smirks at Shelby before returning Rachel's handshake. "Likewise, Rachel. I hope you'll be a good asset."

"Oh, she will be," Shelby says coyly before pointing the girl towards the stage. "Go on, and make sure warm yourself up properly before we get started please."

Mr. Price has already begun to speak over her, introducing the two men next to him who, from what Rachel can briefly gather, appear to be new potential donors to the club. Frowning, she tries to recall whether Shelby had said anything about that in any of her tirades; she thinks she would have remembered something like that. She only manages to listen in for a moment longer before her mother subtly waves her off towards the stage, her tight smile never slipping. Shelby Corcoran, choir coach and teacher, oozes authority right down to her fingertips so Rachel doesn't put up any form of protest.

As she bends into various stretches onstage, she continues to watch her mother talk to the men. Or, if she slight spasms in her hands are to be trusted, a perhaps more accurate description would be that she watches her mother restrain herself from hitting the men. This, of course, is also an attempt to ignore the curious, or in Jesse's case pouting, looks she's receiving from the rest of her teammates.

Five minutes later, Shelby has set herself down into the chair behind her desk and flicked her notebook open with a slam that doesn't need magnification through the microphone to catch her students' attention.

"Let's take 'Rehab' from the top. I want perfection. No exceptions."

As Rachel shuffles into position, she cranes her neck in an attempt to catch her mother's eye. The woman is tensely hunched over, breathing deeply and scrawling frantic notes onto the paper. When she finally does look up at the girl, she answers Rachel's questioning frown with a tiny smile and nod of her head, and, before Rachel can work out for herself whether this means all is okay, the music has been cued and she's swept up into the performance.

"Stop!" Shelby barks into the microphone forty-five minutes later. "Jesus, that's enough- just stop." She sighs and reaches a hand back to rub at her neck. "I know that… I know that last week's rehearsals were somewhat disrupted." Rachel stares down at her character shoes. "I sincerely apologise for that. However, it's not an excuse for the way you're performing now. Invitations is _this _Saturday, guys! Please try to remember that we are the reigning National champions and that the people coming to watch you are expecting a performance which meets that standard. Everybody…" She trails off suddenly and looks down at her illuminated phone screen on the table, all her movements stilling. After a second, her head swings back up. "Everybody take five, grab a drink, and be ready to run the solos. I… Excuse me."

The last part is addressed more to the men sitting a couple of rows ahead of her in the seating block. Quickly, Rachel watches as she grabs her phone and stalks out of the auditorium doors. Most of the rest of the team relax out of their disciplined performance postures and begin to chatter, some taking long swigs from water bottles or canned energy drinks. Rachel, however, looks on in confusion.

So far, the only thing she's ever really seen rattle her mother is _her; s_he's not sure what that means for guessing who may be on the other end of the phone line.

"What's that all about?"

She jumps at the sound of the low voice next to her and swings her head to see Jesse wearing a puzzled expression nearly identical to her own.

"I don't know," she mutters. She spots Sophie leaning down into a calf stretch on the other side of the stage and goes to walk towards her. No matter how overbearingly inquisitive she's being today, it's got to be better than trying to talk to Jesse after her outburst in the changing room.

Unfortunately, Jesse reacts too quickly. "Can we talk about it?" he says, catching her arm.

"There's nothing to talk about," she replies as she tries to shake him off.

"Bullshit." His face softens a little as he looks deep into her eyes. Rachel can already feel her defences melting away; she's not sure whether it's the look of genuine care, or whether it's residue shame. Either way, now's not the time, nor the place.

"Jesse-"

"All I'm going to say is that you shouldn't be thinking like that," he says before glancing around surreptitiously. "She cares about you a lot. And, as someone else who she cares about, I think I also have the insight to say that she cares about you more than she cares about anyone else."

Rachel blinks once. "What?"

"You need to believe it. No one is alone," he says, nodding sagely. "Just remember, someone is on your side, Rachel."

The girl frowns. "Did you… Did you just quote _Sondheim_ at me?"

Jesse smirks. "I'm glad you got it. Then again, I knew you would. We're very similar, Rachel, you and I."

"No, we're-"

"I have to go and prepare for my solo rehearsal now," he says lightly, tapping at his throat. "I'm excited for you to hear me perform." After one step, he spins back to face her. "Oh- you were a little flat just before the bridge on that last run. Your breath support was lacking and you never found the correct placement of the note."

"I-"

"Tell me I'm wrong," he challenges, and Rachel simply gawks at him, because she can't. She'd noticed the momentary misstep too. He chuckles. "That's what I thought."

And, with that, he strides away, leaving Rachel shaking her head after him in a mixture of anger and disbelief. What he's said is perhaps too much to process, if it even makes sense at all, so, instead, she focuses on scowling at his swaggering gait. Years of performing arts training and she's not sure she's ever seen someone demonstrate so much arrogance in just their steps across a stage.

Before the glare has properly died away, she suddenly finds herself face-to-face with a sneering Giselle. Rachel frowns as the taller girl steps entirely too close to her for her liking, and, for a moment, she wishes that Jesse hadn't been quite so fast with his dramatic exit. As quickly as the though occurs to her, she dismisses it. She's Rachel Barbra Berry; since when has she _ever_ let anyone with far less talent than her pose a threat?

"Can I help you?" she asks, folding her arms across her chest and lifting her chin.

Giselle seems to falter a little at her unforeseen show of confidence, but the disparaging look persists. "What were you and Miss C talking about?"

"Excuse me?" Rachel asks. She wills the twist of anxiety in her stomach not to leak out onto her face. She knew it was obvious that the two had been alone for all that time, but she'd hoped that her mother's undisputed authority might prevent any outright questioning into the nature of it.

"I don't know who you think you are or how you've somehow managed to get Miss C and Jesse to think you're so great, but you're not," Giselle says coldly. "You can't just waltz in here and act like you're better than everyone else."

Rachel meets her icy scowl. Her first instinct is to fight back; it's really no wonder that she's already become a threatening and formidable presence on the team- she has undeniable talent. But she's stopped by the thought that, maybe, Giselle does have a point. She'll never know whether Jesse would have sustained an appreciation for her if Shelby hadn't revealed her identity. Maybe she wouldn't have even made it onto the team in the first place had her mother not wanted to get close to her under its guise.

In the few seconds she's been faltering over this realisation, Giselle's continued, "Look, if you want to come in and dance in the background, that's fine. But what I'm not about to let you do is think that you can push your way to the front. Some of us have been here for years- we've earned our position."

"I'm not trying to usurp anyone, Giselle," Rachel replies. "I apologise if my presence is a threat to you, but I'm not going anywhere. I've earned my spot here just like everyone else."

_Possibly_…

"Oh really?" the older girl sneers. "Then why do you keep flinging yourself at Jesse, huh? If you're so confident that you deserve to be here?"

"I haven'-"

"_Please_," Giselle interrupts, rolling her eyes. "I've been watching you, Berry. Everyone knows that you two skipped together on Friday. What? You think that letting St. James into your pants will get you a featured part at Sectionals?"

A pang of frustration ripples through her. It's that same, archaic assumption that her grandmother had made - the implication that her being close to Jesse must have more meaning than a simple friendship.

"Look, I know this may come as a surprise to you," she says coldly, "but boys and girls _can_ just be friends. I see how that might be hard to grasp if the concept of friendship in general is an abstract one to you." Pleased with the deepened scowl she leaves on Giselle's face, she smirks. "I don't need to let anyone 'into my pants'. I'll simply let my talent speak for itself."

She's sure even Jesse would be envious of the subsequent storm out she executes. The burst of adrenaline that had fuelled her, however, performs its own disappearing act seconds later. She stands off to the side of the stage, her eyes drinking in the sight of her peers looking totally at ease.

There's less than three feet between her and the closest other person, but, in this moment, the weight of her anxiety seems to construct a thick, glass partition. None of them need to worry about whether they earned their place on the team because of their talent, or because it was convenient for an underhanded scheme. They probably don't feel faint when their mothers answer unexpected phone calls, rifling through the crevices of their minds to think of where some damning exposé may come from. It's perplexing to her in a way she can't quite pinpoint; is that what's normal? Surely everyone has secrets, imperfections they wish to conceal from the outside world? Maybe they just don't? Or maybe they're all just better at hiding them than she is?

And so, like a child pressing their nose up to the glass enclosure of some rare animal, she just observes. Sophie approaches her after a few moments, telling her to come sit in the seats with her and some of the other girls. It's all Rachel can do to nod blankly back. The glass feels thicker than ever.

"Are you sure you're doing okay today?" Sophie asks from the scratchy velveteen chair next to her. The pervasive questioning in her eyes is what solidifies a fact Rachel's sure she should have already worked out.

_I've been watching you, Berry._

It's not the other kids who are the mysterious zoo exhibit, it's her. She's the one under scrutiny.

000

By the time Wednesday evening rolls around, Shelby is sure that there's nobody in the world who deserves a cold glass of Pinot Grigio quite as much as she does. The liquid spills into the glass in a series of satisfying glugs, condensation blooming rapidly on the convex surface.

_Beautiful_.

Still, even that is not quite enough to silence the parasitic frustration that's been devouring her insides this week.

"I mean it," she says firmly as she screws the cap back onto the bottle and slides it across the counter - she'll most definitely be coming back for more -, "I hate every last one of them."

"All of them?"

"All of them."

She briefly stops to inhale the tangy scent of the wine before gulping back a generous mouthful.

"Oh, I do so love your crisis management skills, Shelbs," Cassie's voice hums gleefully from the laptop speakers.

Shelby lowers her glass just enough to shoot her friend a wry smile. "Constructive and sustainable?"

"Not to mention fun," Cassie says, lifting her own glass from an out-of-sight table. "Cheers to hating men!"

"Cheers," she repeats dryly before taking another swig. "I don't think I'm being dramatic either. I mean, name one global catastrophe _not_ caused by a usually straight, usually white, man who was incorrectly told somewhere along the line that he was clever." She barely breaks to breathe. "That's right- you can't. They all were."

"And we the innocent bystanders," Cassie agrees.

"Right."

Shelby sighs and runs a finger around the rim of the glass, cringing at the state of her nails. God knows when the last time she had them properly done was. Then, with a scoff, she realises the irony of chastising herself over this while critiquing systemic misogyny.

She throws back another mouthful of wine.

"I just hate it," she continues after a moment. "I just really, _really_ hate that… That it's like this huge, inescapable thing. And, sure, maybe I'm reading too far into it. But I think this whole thing with the booster club is a microcosm of the wider, oppressive stratification."

"Hi," Cassie says, leaning to look directly into the camera again from where she's been sitting, facing her mirror. "I'm me, not Luke. I know it must get confusing with us looking so similar and all. Simplify, please."

"Sorry," she says. "I just… I know it's a part of the job, and I know it's what I signed up for and what I'm usually good at, _but_ I just hate the fact that I have to go out of my way to appease a collection of bored, rich men in order to get funding for a group of extraordinarily talented kids to chase their dreams. You know? And it's like they think I'm working with a group of machines. Have any of them ever _met_ a teenager? It's like they think I can just pluck these routines out of thin air and present them on a silver platter while wearing a frilly fucking apron."

"Right," Cassie nods in agreement. This movement is, of course, slightly stilted by the fact that she's vigorously blending eyeshadow into her crease.

"And I _know_," Shelby continues bitterly, "I just _know_ that if these new potential members don't end up donating for whatever reason, it'll be on me. It won't be on the fact that I was only given four days preparation, or attributed to shifting personal circumstance, it'll be on me. Because, wait, listen." She pauses until Cassie's screwed the top back onto her mascara wand and is giving her webcam her full attention. "Because you know what else he said? That taking personal time off is a 'worrying sign of a potential lack of commitment'."

Cassie's face contorts into a snarl. "_No_?"

"Yes," Shelby confirms, eyes blazing. "Fuck the fact that last week was the first time I've _ever_ taken personal time off, right? Fuck the fact that, if it were a _man_ doing that, he would probably be hailed as some kind of heroic family man, right? But no. Because I'm a woman in a professional setting, it's seen as a sign of weakness to have pressing 'external commitments'."

"_Amen_," Cassie says, raising her glass once more. When she's done drinking, she seems to notice the despondent look that's come over her friend's face. "Are you okay, babe? You know you were right to take the time off, right? You _had_ to, Shelbs. You did what you needed to do for you and your daughter and to make sure that she was safe. And now she is."

"Yeah." Shelby nods as she lowers her weight down onto her elbows, her bare arms pressing against the cool surface of the countertop. "No, of course you're right."

"But?" Cassie presses. She turns away for a second to plug in her curling iron before turning back to the camera with an arched eyebrow. "Shelbs?"

"Okay, there's something else," Shelby admits, lowering her voice and throwing a quick glance over her shoulder.

The kitchen remains totally still and silent save for the low rumbling of the dishwasher and she hasn't heard any movement upstairs for a while; she assumes Rachel must be doing her homework at the new desk in her room as she has done the previous two evenings.

Taking a sip of wine and a deep breath to compose herself, she looks straight at Cassie. "I had to talk to Henry about some things."

"Henry?"

"Henry. I…" She shakes her head to try to reorder her scattered thoughts. "Okay, so you know I had to go and see a lawyer to talk about what was going to happen with the custody procedure?"

"Yeah?"

"Okay so it went fine. Thankfully- I really don't know how. But… Well, she started talking about how good supporting evidence to prove my ability to take care of Rachel could involve checks of my finances and property ownerships."

"Oh," Cassie says in a low, knowing tone. She grimaces as she reaches behind her head to curl a clump of long, blonde hair. "So?"

"So obviously I was a little perturbed by the idea of them completing said checks and discovering that my bank account would be significantly depleted and I wouldn't have the fancy house with the gym and the music room if it weren't for Henry's… Well, you know."

"Guilt money?" Cassie finishes.

Shelby sighs as that same feeling rampages through her own body. "Right."

"Got ya." Cassie sits back and tilts her head in consideration. "Well you know how I feel about it all."

"Do I?"

"Yeah," she says, nodding firmly. "I've always thought it was the least he could do."

"Cass," Shelby groans.

"No- I mean it! That whole situation was _beyond_ fucked, Shelbs, and you know it."

"I-"

"He was your _teacher_!"

"He was a guest associate of the college who taught me for one semester," Shelby corrects. Still, a wave of shame overcomes her and she bows her head to stare into the rapidly depleting, translucent liquid.

"Same difference. Point is, he was over double your age, rich and an idiot."

"Cass-"

"And you were a kid, practically homeless, broke and so screwed up in the head you could barely tell your right foot from your left -"

"Oh _boy_\- how did I ever get so lucky to have you in my life?"

"- and he took that, ran with that, and left you _so_ totally fucked up that we had to check you into a professional institution."

Shelby glares at her darkly. She knows that for most people, this look, even when viewed through a video call, would be enough to send shivers up their spine. Unfortunately, Cassie isn't most people.

"What?" she shrugs nonchalantly, returning her attention to her hair. "I'm just stating the facts. So what if he finally came to his senses and had enough decency to try to compensate you for that?"

"With thousands of dollars and a _house_?"

"You've never been able to appreciate a good thing, Shelbs. If any of _my _psycho exes ever wanted to make up for years of emotional trauma like this, I wouldn't be complaining."

_You've never been able to appreciate a good thing_. Story of her life…

"Whatever," Shelby says, standing up a little straighter. "It's fine, I think. I explained most of the situation to Hen and he said he'd make sure it was all okay on his end."

Right in the middle of an already stressful rehearsal hadn't exactly been the best setting for the call, but, as per their usual agenda, Henry had been more than willing to assure her that he would try to make things okay. She'd gratefully agreed, allowing herself to bask in the relaxation of somebody else taking the lead. As soon as the call had ended, she'd been left hanging uncomfortably, haunted by a looming fear that everything could fall out from underneath her at any moment. In the early hours of the last two mornings, dreams of drowning in lifeboats yielded to dreams of plummeting from extreme heights.

_It's always nice to spice things up_.

"Of course he did," Cassie scoffs as she runs her fingers through her newly-waved hair. "But it's okay?"

"Yeah," Shelby mutters. She takes another sip of wine to alleviate the dryness in her mouth. Wine never does what it's supposed to.

"You sound _super_ okay."

Shelby can't find the energy to bite back; instead she just bites down on her lip. "I don't know. _Ugh,_" she groans. "Like it's all of it, right? It's all connected. It's the fact that, realistically, VA and my job is maybe the only thing in my life that's truly come from me. And even that's not entirely true because we both know I would never have got the funding to launch the program if it weren't for Henry. So," she sighs. "By that logic, there's nothing that I can really call mine, you know? That I'm not indebted to someone else, usually a goddamn fucking _man,_ for."

Cassie's eyes have widened as she was speaking, leaving her with a comically flummoxed expression. Shelby drums her fingertips on the countertop while she waits for her to recover.

"What about Rachel?"

"Rachel?" Shelby frowns. "Rachel as something in my life that I haven't needed a man for? Do we need to have a biology lesson, Cass?"

"Please. And then I'll be quick to point out that ejaculation was the first and last thing S-E-A-N did in the child bearing and rearing process."

"S-E-A-N?" Shelby questions.

Cassie shrugs. "You said you hadn't talked to Rachel about it yet and I don't want there to be any accusation of me spilling the beans."

"She's upstairs. And fourteen, Cassandra, I think she can spell."

"My point still stands," Cassie says, letting the use of her full name roll off her back. "You effectively made Rachel by yourself and brought her into the world and-"

"Emotionally scarred her forever?" Shelby interrupts. She looks back towards the door again; everything's still quiet. "I don't know how to get through to her. Maybe it's just a question of things taking time but it's like… Kid looks like she's about to pass out all the time and I have no clue how I'm supposed to make her feel more comfortable, how to get her to believe that this is it and she's safe and loved."

Cassie blows out a long breath. "Tough one," she agrees after a moment.

"Thanks for the wondrous words of wisdom. As always."

"No problem." She smirks as she begins to pull the hair grips out from the front of her head. "You should try my approach."

"And what would that be?"

"Emotion fuelled haircut," she says, smoothing down her new bangs across her forehead. Shelby can't help but to finally smile. "It got you to finally pay attention to me and see how much I love and need you."

"Right," Shelby says as she rolls her eyes. "I can't believe you did it. You're crazy, you know that?"

"Heard it once or twice before." Cassie wraps the wispy strands of hair around the curling iron to fix them into place. "I had to do something. You didn't reply to me for over twelve hours - I counted - and I had emotions I didn't know how to otherwise tame."

"Wine wasn't cutting it?"

"No, that's not true. Wine did, in fact, help me to cut it." She snickers to herself. "Geddit?"

"Yeah," Shelby replies dryly. "Funny."

"I quite like it anyway," Cassie says as she studies her reflection in her mirror. "It's definitely taken a good three years off of my Botox plans."

"Good to know." Shelby nods "However, I don't think that's really the right approach to take to assure Rachel that I'm a trustworthy maternal figure."

She jumps slightly as the door to the kitchen swings open, fully, and yet not at all, prepared to have to explain to her daughter why she's laughing about such a serious topic on a video call. The figure that enters the room, however, isn't the timid form of the small girl, but is, instead, a very sweaty Luke. She smiles as he runs a hand through his damp, shaggy hair and waves cheerily at her.

"Hi, babe," he pants, striding through the kitchen. He stops briefly to pick up a packet of cigarettes and lighter from beside the speaker on the counter next to Shelby. "Cassandra."

"Professor," the blonde returns with a smirk. "Running and then smoking?"

"It's all about the balance, right? You know this," he says. He quickly presses a kiss to Shelby's cheek, who, in turn, flips Cassie off as she begins to emit exaggerated gagging sounds, and then lets himself out the sliding glass doors with a, "Bye, babe."

"_Men_," Cassie says pointedly.

"Yeah, yeah," Shelby laughs. "Speaking of which, do tell about who you're getting all dressed up to go see? Hot date?"

Cassie hums in consideration. "Something like that…"

"Hmm?" Shelby reaches for the bottle of wine and refills her glass while her friend mirrors her actions through the screen.

"Well, I _am_ going to see a man..."

"But?"

"It's perhaps less a date and more of a disciplinary meeting."

Shelby spills a large dribble of wine onto the countertop. "Excuse me? You have a 'disciplinary meeting' and you're going looking like _that_? You're _drinking_? What did you do?"

"Relax." Cassie waves her off. "What I did or didn't do isn't the issue. What matters is how I'm choosing to deal with it."

"Which is how exactly? By dolling yourself up like you're going to a club and getting drunk?"

"No, _Mother,_" Cassie pouts. "See, I've found that the best way to say 'fuck the patriarchy' is, in fact, to fuck the patriarchy."

"Cass…"

"So it really isn't all that different from a date anyway," she says, shrugging. "Tomato, tomahto."

"Potato, disciplinary meeting?"

Cassie grins broadly, raising her glass in a toast. "That's the spirit!"

000

At around the same time the following evening, Shelby finds herself in a similar position. Only, at this time, the wine is a cold can of Redbull and her laptop displays her work to-do list rather than the smiling face of her friend. The downgrade of the century.

She wills herself not to pout too heavily as she finishes wiping away any residual mess from dinner and dials down the volume of her music. Things could be worse. She'd pulled the kids from their afternoon classes today to rehearse and finally, at the last possible moment, something had clicked and they were finally putting on a Vocal Adrenaline level show.

Sure, she realises that she's probably been hard on them, that they would have most likely been fine even without her increasingly severe threats, but she's never been okay with fine. 'Okay' has never been fine to her. What she wants, and what she's always determined to seek from her students, is excellence. Perfection. Something that turns heads and drops jaws. And, thankfully, she's pretty certain she's got that. It's for both her own personal gratification and because she won't allow anyone the satisfaction of being right in that her need for time off, for an inch of breathing room from the team, has diluted the usual standards.

She even noticed Rachel basking in the praise she'd finally allowed herself to bestow upon the group. Her guard wasn't completely down, Shelby has observed with a certain level of sadness and frustration that it never really is, but she'd looked a little less imminently terrified.

_Progress?_

Shelby's not sure, but she did appreciate the way Rachel willingly accompanied her during her standard post-rehearsal singalong of '9 to 5' in the car. The sight of her daughter's grin and the memory of her easy harmony has been enough to keep her in good spirits all evening. That's combined with the fact that the possibility of practice running late meant that she preemptively cancelled her therapy appointment; it's nice to have a Thursday evening free from debilitating discussions.

So, it's with marginally decreased objection that she pulls out the bar stool and settles herself down to plough through her evening's work.

She's finalising the program for Invitationals, casting a particularly careful eye over the 'Acknowledgments' section to check for any misspelled names which could warrant superfluous distress, when the door to the kitchen creaks open. Luke has been tucked away in his office for a while now and so, as she expects, it's Rachel who appears in the doorway.

Immediately, she pulls her eyes away from the screen and smiles up at her daughter. It's rare for Rachel to make much of an appearance downstairs after dinner, but Shelby can't deny the surge of happiness it brings her to see her little girl in her house. She doesn't think she'll ever grow tired of the sight - not even when Rachel's face is knitted in worry.

"Hey, sweetheart," she says, beckoning her further into the room. "What's up?"

Rachel smiles shyly back at her. "Um, hi."

"Hi."

"I… Well, I know you're probably busy, I'm sorry, but I was wondering whether you could help me?"

Reflexively, she swings her laptop shut and shakes her head. "I'm not busy. What can I help you with?"

"Oh, good," Rachel says, seeming to release a wave of tension in a deep breath. "It's not much. It's just… So I have this assignment. And I'm sure it would be okay and that I _could_ do it fine by myself, but, well it's my first one of this level and I just want to be sure that what I'm submitting reflects my abilities properly."

Shelby's not sure whether she should laugh or cry. Of course Rachel's just like her. Hair, bone structure, vocal talent and crushing perfectionism - it's the perfect cocktail of inherited traits. Not for the first time, she wishes she'd left a better mold for Rachel to fill.

"You want some help with homework?" she clarifies, smiling when Rachel nods enthusiastically. "Okay, I'm sure I can manage that. Why don't you talk me through what we need to do?"

She taps on the counter next to her and watches happily as her daughter begins to lay out her papers, chattering about the poetry analysis she's been asked to complete. This has to be pretty close to perfection.

They're an hour in when Shelby glances up from reading over Rachel's neat handwriting to find the girl watching her intently. Her pen dangles loosely in her hand over a half-complete sheet of loose-leaf, all her attention apparently fixated on her mother's profile.

"You okay?" Shelby asks in amusement. She tries not to allow herself to think of the last time Rachel properly looked at her like that - in her office, just after she'd finally told her the truth, just before everything came crashing down. She won't let it crash down again.

"Sorry," Rachel says, snapping out of her daze and returning her eyes to her work. "I don't know. I was just… thinking."

"About anything interesting?" Shelby asks in what she hopes is a casual manner. She wants to pounce upon the opening Rachel's given her, but she knows she has to be stealthy about it, play it cool.

"It's not a big deal," Rachel mutters after a few seconds.

Just as Shelby's preparing herself to experience the habitual feeling of a door slamming in her face, she notices her daughter beginning to tap her pen repeatedly atop the paper. Maybe it's not all over.

"I don't know," she continues. "It's just that this is the first time that anybody's helped me with homework since… Since Dad and Daddy." She swallows thickly and peers up at mother with wide eyes. "It's just weird. B-but a _good_ weird, I think," she adds quickly. "In a way…"

"It's fine," Shelby assures her, shifting on the stool to face her head on. "I get that it is probably _is_ really weird for you. I'm glad I get to help you, though. Now." Her hands are still resting on Rachel's paper, but she realises she's probably talking about more than just homework. "It's complicated… I know that, but I'm happy that I'm here to help you."

Rachel pauses for a moment before nodding once. "I am too."

"I can't promise I'll ever be as good as Dad was for helping with science and math, though," she says, relieved when Rachel doesn't instantly freak at the mention of her father. Instead, she tilts her head in thought.

"That's okay," she replies. "He always wanted to use old people methods anyway."

"Right," Shelby laughs. "And couldn't understand why they would bother changing it when there was a 'perfectly functional method' already."

"He used to say that to me too," she says, staring again at Shelby intently. "I can't believe I never knew that you were close to them."

For a moment, Shelby can't think of any response aside from a sad smile; it doesn't seem like the right setting for her to launch into her string of apologies again. Finally, she takes Rachel's hand and gives it a tight squeeze.

"They really were the best men I've ever known."

"Yeah," Rachel says, her thoughtful look giving way to a tiny smile. "I just hope they haven't changed math again since you were doing it."

"Me too, babe," Shelby chuckles. "Me too."

A while later, just as Shelby's beginning to wonder whether she should start timing Rachel's impressively long yawns, the girl finishes scrawling out her final sentence and sets her pen down with a triumphant smile.

"All done?" Shelby grins.

"Mmm-hmm," Rachel hums back, just as another yawn overtakes her. "Thanks for all your help."

"Anytime, my love," she says, leaning over to press a kiss onto her daughter's forehead. "But it's definitely past your bedtime so why don't you take your books upstairs and go get ready?"

"I have a bedtime?" Despite her exaggerated stretching as she stands, she still manages to sound somewhat outraged by this.

"You do," Shelby tells her. She glances at the time on her phone screen: _10:14 p.m. _"And we've passed it by almost fifteen minutes already so let's go."

"You never told me I had a bedtime before," Rachel pouts. Shelby has to quickly look away; she knows she'll never be able to stand firm when put head to head with those big, brown eyes and the jutted bottom lip.

"Well, now you do," she stands firm. "Go on."

"_Fiii-iine_," Rachel whines as she leaves the kitchen. She stops before she's all the way through the door, however, and turns back to her mother with a grin. "Thank you. Um, for everything."

"It's my pleasure, babe," Shelby says. "I'll come up to say goodnight in ten minutes."

As soon as she hears Rachel's bedroom door close upstairs, she lowers her face onto the cool surface of the countertop and emits a low groan. Circus skills was the only class she'd ever failed. Her peers at a performing arts camp she'd once attended had found it highly amusing that there was finally _something_ she was bad at there. But, she said it then, and she'll say it again, juggling is _hard_.

With a reluctant sigh, she pushes herself back up and flicks her laptop open. If she works solidly now, it should only be a few hours before she can follow Rachel up to bed. Helping her daughter with homework, in the way that Hiram and Leroy had always helped her, is something she'd spent a long time thinking she would never get to do. She doesn't regret it and she knows she would do it a million times over just for the fleeting moments of peace and happiness on Rachel's face. Still, she would prefer it if she didn't now have to start on all of her own work at gone ten o'clock.

Halfway through reaching for a much-needed sip of Redbull, she finds her hand stopped in its tracks.

"Nuh uh," Luke says, pulling the can away from her and holding it out of her reach.

He laughs when she glowers at him and futilely attempts to snatch it back. "I am _not_ in the mood."

"Oh, I know," he says, leaning down to kiss her gently while still waving the drink over his head. "You're tired and you're grumpy and I already heard you sending Rach off to bed. We should follow her wondrous example."

"Unfortunately, I don't have a bedtime."

"Oh wow," he laughs. "You two really _are_ similar."

"Shut up. I have so much to do." She gestures towards her list and allows Luke to peer down at it over her shoulder. "So as much as I would like to sleep, I can't yet."

She turns to open up the program she needs on her laptop, but has barely moved the cursor before Luke is gently lowering the screen.

"What are-"

"You can do it tomorrow," he reasons, looking at her pointedly. "Nothing on there is a matter of life or death that can't wait until then."

"But-"

"You're exhausted, you're doing it tomorrow." He smirks as she sends him an icy glare. "Nice try. Let's go to bed."

000

A while later, Shelby cringes as her foot lands a little too heavily on the stair that creaks. She throws a nervous glance back up to the hallway before she continues to make her way back down to the kitchen.

After making sure Rachel was okay and settled, she'd allowed herself to perform her nightly routine with Luke and snuggle down in bed next to him until she was certain he was asleep. Then, she'd peeled back the covers and begun her mission. There's a definite prickle of annoyance at the thought that, if she hadn't had to put on that whole charade with him, she would probably have made decent progress by that, but it's undercut by the gratitude she has for him looking out for her.

That's not going to change the fact that she's going to get her work done tonight one way or another, but she appreciates it all the same.

She chooses to only light the room via the sleek LEDs under the cabinets, figuring that's less likely to be visible from upstairs and, with a roll of her eyes, sends a silent _thank you_ to Henry for his insistence that they be put in. Then, she reclaims her Redbull from where Luke had put it away in the fridge and settles back down at her stool, feeling quite proud of herself for pulling off her little scheme.

She manages to maintain this for a full three and a half minutes before Luke appears in the doorway, eyeing her with exasperation.

"Really, Shelbs?"

"Oh, hey, babe," she says nonchalantly. "I couldn't sleep so I just thought I'd-"

"You're such a bad liar," he yawns as he slowly walks over to her. "You have two hours."

"Huh?"

"Two hours to do whatever it is that you think you can't leave until tomorrow and then we're going back to bed." Shelby watches incredulously as he sinks down into the wicker chair by the sliding doors and picks up the hideously thick book he'd left there earlier. "What?"

"Firstly, I'm just surprised you conceded defeat so quickly," she smirks. "But also you really don't have to stay. I promise I'll come up in two hours."

Luke waves her off right away. "It's fine. It's two hours. That's got nothing on when I was trying to finish my thesis and you stayed up with me for a full three days as my professional hype-woman."

"I just wanted to make sure you didn't get too worked up with it all," she says, smiling softly at the memory.

"And why do you think I'm here now?"

"Okay," she relents.

She realises he's fallen asleep a little while later when the only response she gets to, "Babe, can you come proofread this for me?" is a gentle snore. Still, his presence in the room is oddly calming and she finds herself powering through the majority of her list with unexpected ease. She breaks the two hour time limit, but she figures it's not too amoral considering Luke is still sleeping peacefully.

As Rachel had done earlier, she allows herself a quick gloat of triumph as she hits send on her final email and stretches out her back. She's done it, right? She was a passably good mother tonight, she did the work she needed to do to her usual high standard and, perhaps best of all, both of those things were accomplished without significant distress either to her or to anyone else around her.

That being said, keeping her eyelids from swinging shut has become a Herculean task and she can't quite ignore the dull pounding in her temples anymore. Pushing aside her notebook and laptop to be dealt with in the morning, she approaches Luke and gives a gentle push on his shoulder.

"Luke? It's bedtime, my love."

Luke groans lowly and clumsily rolls his body away from her jabbing fingers.

"Lukey?" she coos, grinning at his sleepy expression. She bends down to kiss him before tapping her fingers against his cheek. "Lukey Pookie, it's time to wake up and go upstairs."

"Don't call me that," he mumbles, blinking hard before finally meeting her eyes with a scowl. "You know I hate that."

"Well I think it's cute," Shelby says. "Morning, Sunshine."

Luke looks sheepishly down at the book now nestled between his leg and the side of the chair. "Sorry. How long was I out for?"

"I think you lasted about five minutes," she tells him, and offers him a hand to help him up. "You were cute, though."

"You act like it's a surprise. I'm _always_ cute."

"Sure you are."

"Did you do everything you wanted to do?" he whispers as they reach the bottom of the stairs.

"Most of it."

"Enough so that you're not going to lie awake beating yourself up all night?"

Shelby shoots him a glare of mock-reproach before nodding. "Stopped right on the quota for that."

"Good," he says, squeezing their still intertwined hands more closely together. "You're great at what you do, but you're not Superwoman, Shelbs. Even you can't do it all."

She's too tired to compute whether or there's a subtle dig lying somewhere in there. The aim has never been to embody some omnipotent martyr, it's just been to quiet the voices in her head which tell her that conceding defeat is never an option.

"I'm not? Well that's a shame. What am I going to do with my spandex suit now?"

Luke stops at the top of the stairs and smirks at her. "I'm sure we could find a way to put it to good use."

"Head out of the gutter, Gupta," she says, landing a solid smack on his arm. "My child is-"

Just as Shelby goes to gesture towards Rachel's bedroom, she sees a small figure making her way down the hallway. They meet each other's eyes in a moment of shared confusion and concern, Shelby's intensifying as she spots the unmistakable glistening of tears.

"Rach?" she calls, quickly stepping past Luke. "What's wrong, Star?"

Panic flickers across Rachel's face, widening her eyes and sending tremors through her bottom lip, while she looks between the two other occupants of the hallway. Shelby can tell she's quickly trying to hide it, but it's too late. She's seen it and she's not about to just let it go. She's been doing so well tonight and she can't allow that to fall apart now. Although, she does realise she perhaps hasn't been doing as well as she thought if her kid has been up here crying without her even knowing.

Instinctively, she looks to Luke for guidance before remembering that she's the one in control here. It takes a village, yes, but right now she's the mom.

"You go ahead," she tells him quickly. "I'll be there in a minute." Then, she wraps a strong arm around Rachel's shoulders and gently guides her back into her own room.

"I-I'm sorry," the girl immediately begins to splutter. "Sorry, I just went to the b-bathroom and…"

"Shh, it's okay," Shelby assures her, rubbing her hand across her back. "You're okay."

She ceases her motions only for a moment to turn on the new lamp on Rachel's desk. The room becomes baked in a soft yellow light; Shelby can now see all of the puffy redness surrounding her daughter's eyes. Weighed down by guilt, dejection and confirmation of the fact that she's failing her daughter, her heart sinks.

Rachel had been okay… Right? She'd seemed fine and happy when she was doing homework. There hadn't been any noticeably wrong with her when Shelby went to say goodnight.

When some of this internal anguish spills out onto her face, Rachel quickly shakes her head and swipes at her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles. "I'm sorry, I'm going back to sleep now."

Shelby doesn't let her pull properly away. "Baby, what's wrong? What happened?"

"I… I don't know," she says shakily, staring down at her bare feet. "I haddabadream."

"Oh, Rach," Shelby murmurs. She's pretty well acquainted with the feeling, but it doesn't exactly lead her into an easy solution. Instead, she opens up her arms. "Come here, sweet girl."

Rachel buries her face into her chest, the fabric of Shelby's sweatshirt soaking up her tears and choked cries. "I'm sorry," she repeats. "I'm so sorry."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for, baby," Shelby says firmly. She tightens her grip on her daughter and rests the side of her face down on her soft hair. "You hear me? You don't need to be sorry."

"I do," Rachel whispers. "You don't know, but I do."

Her voice is quiet, but it cut rights through Shelby. Her blood runs cold and she frowns down at the girl in confusion.

"I don't know what, Rach?"

Rachel immediately shakes her head vigorously where it's still planted against Shelby's body. "I can't… I…"

"Rachel?" The girl doesn't look up. "Rachel, please, can you look at me?"

_What did you miss?_

Shelby's staring down at the mess of brown hair and the quivering body she's holding in her arms, desperately trying to think of anything Rachel could be talking about. She comes up short. But she must have missed _something_, overlooked it somewhere down the line. The two of them have been flinging emotions back and forth at each other with such ferocity that it's all just a mess. The debris of overturned secrets and discovered lies is strewn around them for miles in every direction. Trying to determine which part of any of this Rachel could be talking about is like looking for a needle in a haystack.

_You don't know, but I do._

"Rachel?" Shelby tries again. She takes the girl by the shoulders and pushes her back a little until big brown eyes are forced to meet hers. "You know you can tell me anything, right? That nothing you say will change how much I love you?"

Rachel shakes her head again. "B-but you don't know. Y-you wouldn't if you knew."

"Try me?" Shelby pleads. "I promise it will be okay."

"I c-can't," Rachel says again. She blinks and a fresh wave of tears run down her cheeks in fast little streams. "I'm so sorry, Mommy. Please don't go."

_Everything hurts_. She's not sure whether it's the 'Mommy' falling from her child's lips, or the tears falling from her eyes, but she doesn't want to press her anymore. All she wants to do is make sure that she's as okay as she possibly can be.

"Hey, no," she says quickly. "It's okay. I'm not going anywhere, Star, I promise." She gently wipes Rachel's tears away with her thumbs; the physicality of her daughter's pain burns against her skin like acid. "You're okay. I'm right here."

"I don't wanna be by myself," Rachel whimpers, her face crumpling. "I don't wanna be separate."

"You're not, Star," Shelby says. She reaches for Rachel's hand and interlocks their fingers. "See, I'm right here and you're right here. We're together."

She responds in kind when Rachel desperately squeezes at her fingers, as if checking it's all real, before pulling her into a tight hug. When she feels Rachel yawning against her chest, it's with a definite sense of relief. She's clearly not going to get any kind of answer out of her right now and she can feel the girl's exhaustion in her heavy movements and slightly dazed expression.

"How about we get you back into bed, Star?" she asks softly. "And I promise I'll stay for as long as you want me to."

"Mkay," Rachel murmurs.

Shelby helps her back into bed, tucks her covers around her and climbs in from the opposite side. Then, she puts a steadying arm around her daughter and begins to gently comb through her hair with her fingers. The state of her nails doesn't seem to matter so much now.

"I'm sorry," Rachel whispers after a few moments. "I'm not a baby. I shouldn't need you to stay."

"You don't have to be sorry," Shelby replies, dropping a kiss into her hair. "I know you're not a baby, but you're my baby and I'll stay for as long as you need me to - until you go back to sleep, if you want?"

"Ihaddabaddream," Rachel murmurs into her mother's sweatshirt.

"I know, sweetheart," Shelby sighs. "Do you want to talk about it?" The only response she gets is another, small shake of Rachel's head. "Okay, Star. That's okay."

She continues to work her fingers through the girl's hair, grateful that she's beginning to relax into the soothing motion. It's working for her, too. In fact, with Rachel lying almost on top of her chest, their bodies falling into one steady pattern of breathing, she's reminded that this is what she's always needed. She peers down at the girl's face and sees her tired eyes staring gauntly ahead. She has to try something.

"You know, Rach," she starts quietly, "when you were little, when I was finishing up with school, I used to find it really hard to sleep, too."

"Really?" Rachel whispers.

"Yeah," she replies, smoothing some of her hair down gently. "So you know what I used to do?"

"What?"

"I used to go over to your dads' house so that we could sleep together."

Rachel pulls her head up at that, looking deep into her mother's eyes. "Really?"

"Yep." Shelby nods, thankful that Rachel finally looks a little less pained. "And I really hated your babysitter-"

"Why?"

"I think I was just jealous honestly," she says, smirking at the memories. "I hated that she got to spend so much time with you and I didn't. So, I used to go over when it was just her and you at home and tell her she could leave. And then I used to take you up to my room there and lie you down on my stomach and we'd take a nap together."

"Oh?" Rachel mutters. She's returned her face to its position nestled deep into Shelby's side. There's some dampness from her tears, but what her mother can mostly feel is the warmth emanating out from her.

"I used to talk to you too," she continues. "Because, Rach, honestly, I hated being back at school so much. I only went because your dads told me I should. They used to tell me how proud you would be of me when you were older that I'd gone back and finished school. That, and I knew it would look better on college applications because of the extra-curriculars - I really wanted to do as well as I could to go to a good school. But it was so hard, Star, and the only thing that really made it any better was knowing that sometimes I'd get to go and talk to you about it."

"Oh," Rachel repeats. She yawns deeply and nestles in closer to her mother. "Was I a good listener?"

Shelby smiles at the question. "You were the best. And you would tell me about your day too- or, at least, I think that's what you were trying to tell me. And then we would sometimes sing, or just cuddle, and we would lay down together and we would both sleep so well."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Shelby confirms. "And then I would usually end up staying for dinner with you guys. Your dads liked that anyways. But that was always my favourite time, Rach. When it was just you and I taking a nap together. So I always want you to know that you can come and get me if you can't sleep because God knows that I always used to come and get you."

Rachel remains so still and silent for a moment that Shelby's sure she must have fallen asleep. Then, she hears a quiet, "Mommy?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Thank you."

Shelby releases a jolty breath; whether it's a single laugh or a repressed sob, she wouldn't be able to say. "No, Rach. Thank _you_." She kisses her head again. "I love you so much, baby."

And, though she isn't expecting it, and it's muffled by impending sleep, she receives a soft, "Love you too," in return.

It only takes a minute or so for Rachel to succumb to sleep, her body falling more heavily than ever over her mother's chest. Shelby, however, is now the one staring blankly ahead. Her eyes pierce into the lamp on Rachel's desk but she barely notices the sting this produces.

There's something she doesn't know. She hasn't fixed it all, made everything perfect and wrapped it all up with a neat bow on top. The juggling balls splatter down around her feet and there's nothing she can do to keep more from falling.

* * *

_**A/N- This actually gave me so much trouble so I hope the final product was okay lol. A lot of setting things up, I'm sorry. I hope you enjoyed, though! Please do let me know what you thought! Promise I'll be back ASAP.**_

_**This may seem out of place but I can't, in good conscience, say nothing. Use whatever platform you have, I guess. Black lives matter. Property can be replaced, Black lives cannot. Western society has its roots in and survives through racially charged oppression, enslavement and theft. Listen, engage and respond. Stay safe everyone.**_


	15. Tightrope

_**A/N: This just in: in 2020 terms, ASAP means two months. :S**_

* * *

Shelby has never envisioned the ghosts of her past as apparitions fluttering around her or skulking shadows looming behind the surface of the mirror. Thinking like that seems too abstract, too ethereal. Instead, there's a dead weight to them, a pungent tangibility that never seems to go away. It's perhaps less skeletons in her closet and more a shameful corpse dumped in some secret lake. So long as she keeps the waters still and calm, the corpse remains sunken, forgotten, gently rotting under the surface.

She never accounted for the lake being dredged.

_"Shelby?" _

_"I told you to leave me alone!" _

_"Shelbs, we just want to talk, honey."_

_"There's nothing to talk about!"_

_She knows that they're still right outside the door, shouting things at her through the wooden frame, but she's pulled her blanket over her head, stuffed her headphones into her ears, and jacked the volume all the way up. She barely hears the music; that's not the point. The point is that she just can't stand to listen to them anymore, let alone begin to make any kind of attempt to reply. Of all the stupid things she's done in her life, this will definitely make the top five. _

_Maybe it could even compete for that top spot? It all depends on how things pan out from here._

_She hadn't meant to do it. Her useless brain hadn't even offered up any indication that she was about to do it. She was totally unprepared - they all were. It wasn't and then it was; forethought and reason got lost somewhere along the way. _

_How could she have been such an idiot?_

_As she rolls onto her side and allows one hand to subconsciously drift until it's cradling the rapidly growing bump on her stomach, she finds her answer. It's been the answer to everything recently. Only, that's not quite right: it's usually been less of an _answer_ and more of an excuse, a baseline from which everything else tumbled downwards. _

_On this occasion, she blames the constant fuzziness in her brain. Truly coherent thoughts are a thing of the past, replaced instead by some kind of thick fog. It disconnects things, jumbles them, makes it so she can never hold on to anything properly, and, apparently, it's now making her blurt out things she should know to keep quiet._

_She screws her eyes shut and pushes the side of the face into the mattress as far as it will go - she would trade any kind of worldly possession for the chance to be swallowed up by it right now. Her ears are ringing from the volume of the music pounding directly into them, but all she can hear is the sound of her own voice. Where she wants peaceful blackness, all she can see are the looks on Hiram and Leroy's faces right after the words had fallen out._

_Shock. Confusion. Anger… Disgust?_

_For a few, long seconds, they'd just stared at each other. It was all heavy breaths sucked in through gaping mouths and tears spilling over high cheekbones and the TV in the corner playing a laugh track for a joke none of them had heard._

_Then, the questions had come. Stuttered and slow to start with, they'd built up like an avalanche flooding relentlessly over her, through her, until she wasn't sure which way was up or which was down and she couldn't do anything except go into survival mode. _

_So she ran. She'd hauled herself up the stairs faster than she's moved for months, flung herself into her bedroom and screwed the deadbolt shut on the door behind her. When she'd first moved in, they'd allowed her to keep it there for privacy purposes, under the promise that she would never lock them out in an emergency. She can't quite work out whether this is an emergency or not, but she knows she's never been more grateful for it._

_She's not sure how long she's been nestled in her cocoon for. Vaguely aware of the songs coming and going, she instead forces all of her focus to remain on her breathing. If she breathes, she's okay. Time passes, she's okay. She's okay, the baby's okay. _

_Breathing is the only thing in her realm of capability right now._

_She's working on a deep inhale when the sanctum gets invaded. Air catches in the back of her throat as her eyes widen in horror and, for a few seconds, she chokes on her own breath. Hiram's sympathetic face looms over her._

_"What the _fuck_?" she eventually splutters, ripping her headphones out. The ongoing tinny music cuts through the silence of the room. Shock turns rapidly to anger and she drags herself up from her lying position by her elbows. Hiram extends a hand to help her but she bats it away without a second thought. "Don't touch me!" _

_"Okay," he says warily, and takes a few steps away from her like she's a ticking time bomb set to explode. "Okay. I won't touch you. We just want to talk, Shelbs."_

_Her eyes swing over to the door at that; Leroy is standing nervously just outside the bedroom, a small key in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. Of _course_ they have a key. Yet another stupid mistake._

_"We know you need your time and your privacy, honey," Hiram continues when she offers nothing in return, "but we needed to check that you were okay, and you weren't responding." _

_"That was intentional," she mutters grumpily. _

_Swallowing hard, she stares down at her iPod and cuts the music. Everything else is suddenly so much louder: her own shallow breaths, Hiram's steady ones, the floorboard underneath Leroy creaking as he shifts his weight uneasily. She can't bring herself to look back up, though. She's not ready. She's never been ready._

_But Shelby knows that _she_ did this. She was the one who let the words fall out relatively unprovoked - all they'd been trying to do was to get to know her a little more, asking about her family, her childhood memories. How were they supposed to know what that would accidentally unleash?_

_There was no puppeteer lodging a hand inside of her and manipulating her body. Not this time._

_This time, it was all her. _

_"I… I'm so sorry," she finally whispers._

_"Shelbs-"_

_"No, I'm so sorry," she repeats. She sniffs hard and looks back up, her gaze flicking between the two men who have already moved mountains to accommodate her. "That was so inappropriate - I shouldn't have… I didn't mean to…"_

_"Shelby," Hiram starts gently. He moves to sit down on the bed next to her, but freezes when she flinches backwards. "Sorry." _

_He sighs as he peers down at her. There's a look in his eyes that knocks Shelby even further off-balance. She can't read it, but she thinks she understands it. He doesn't know what to say or how to tell her that she's too much and that she's not at all what they signed up for. Half of her has already been expecting it; this can't have been what they anticipated when they first showed interest in adopting her kid. Buy one baby, get one emotionally unstable teenager free…_

_"Are you ok-"_

_"It's fine," she interrupts before the words are properly out of his mouth. "I get it. I can make other arrangements." _

_"Shelbs, what are you talking about?" Leroy asks as he steps further into the room._

_"I understand completely," Shelby continues, pulling from deep inside her some kind of levity to inject into her voice. "This isn't what you signed up for and it's fine." She clambers off the bed unsteadily, still not quite accustomed to her changing body and growing stomach. "You can still adopt the baby. Um… If you still want to. But I'll… um… I'll go and stay at a hotel, or something. Just for tonight. Just while I… make arrangements…" _

_She trails off weakly as she watches the two of them throwing nervous glances at each other. What has she done _now_?_

_"I don't need any money," she adds quickly, taking a stab at the source of their unease. "I have some savings. I…" _

_"Shelby, stop," Hiram says, shaking his head. "You're not going to a hotel." _

_"But I-"_

_"You're not going anywhere," he clarifies. He looks intently at her over the bed and she frowns back. "Let me speak for a moment, okay? We want you here more than anything, now especially-" _

_"But-"_

_"Let me finish," he instructs softly and Shelby bows her head. "We want you here, Shelby. Nothing you tell us will change our minds on that, I promise. If, either now or sometime in the future, you decide you want to go, we'll still always support you and be here to help you out. You can think about it, if that's what you really want, Shelbs, but you're not going anywhere tonight." _

_"Why?" Shelby asks. She shakes her head as her brow furrows more deeply in confusion. "Why would you…?"_

_"You're family, kiddo," Leroy says, sending her a reassuring smile that only tangles her thoughts more. "We love you and we want you here."_

_Family isn't something she's sure she understands anymore. It evokes the feeling of being tied up, shackled, squeezed so tightly into a corner that she can't catch her breath. _

_"But I…" Dejectedly, she sinks her body down onto the bed, one hand coming to rest naturally on her stomach. "I shouldn't have told you that… It's… It's my thing - it's my problem. I'm sorry."_

_"Hey, no," Leroy says as he walks over and squats down in front of her. "That's not true at all, sweetheart. I'm glad you told us - I know that must have been really hard for you to do." _

_Again, Shelby shakes her head. "I didn't mean to… It just slipped out."_

_"That's okay," Hiram assures her. He also walks around the bed and kneels down next to his husband. "Have you told anyone else, Shelbs? Your mom doesn't…" One look at the anguished look on her face seems to tell him everything he needs to know. "Oh my God… She knows?! She knows and that bastard is still _alive_?" _

_"Hiram!" Leroy scolds. Shelby can just about make out the way he pointedly jerks his head towards her; her field of vision has become clouded by the tears now meandering their way down her face._

_"Sorry," Hiram mutters before looking back up at her. "Shelby, I'm so sorry." _

_"It's fine," she responds instinctively, wiping at her face. "I'm fine, I'm sorry. I'm being stupid." _

_"No, you're not," both men immediately reply._

_She has to choke back another sob at the looks on their faces. None of this is making sense to her. "No, I am," she says with as much conviction as she can muster. "I promise, I'm okay. I just… I shouldn't have told you, I'm sorry. I… Can we pretend like…"_

_The conviction ebbs away pretty quickly and, spent, her body sinks down further into the mattress. She doesn't need to finish the question to know the answer; it's written all over their faces and hangs thickly in every particle of air in the room. None of them can go back to before. She can't keep looping them into a charade they didn't even know was playing out. _

_It wasn't, and then it was._

_"I've ruined everything, haven't I?" she whispers. It's more to herself - again, words trickle out unbidden._

_"No," Hiram says firmly. "Look at me." Reluctantly, she does; she's never been able to put up a fight for too long. "You haven't done anything wrong, Shelbs. Whether you meant to tell us or not, you have us both on your side now. Always. We love you and this doesn't change that. Whatever you need, however you want to handle this, we're on your side. Right, Lee?"_

_"Right," the other man confirms. "We made a commitment to you - we all made one to each other - and that involves looking out for each other always, through the good times and the bad."_

_"But you didn't know." _

_"And now we do," Hiram says. "That doesn't change the terms of the agreement, Shelbs. We're family, and family - _real _family - don't walk away from you when things are hard. So, whatever it is that you need, honey, that's what we'll do."_

_Shelby screws her eyes closed. It's too much. She didn't want to tell them about it. She doesn't want to tell them what she needs. She doesn't even _know_ what she needs. Nobody's ever really asked her that. Nobody apart from…_

_"Shelby?" Leroy's voice cuts through her thoughts. He's sitting on the bed a foot or so away from her, clearly uncertain as to whether he should even attempt to get any closer. He smiles gently at her and holds out the bottle of water. "Here. And you can take your time, sweetheart. You don't have to know exactly what you want or need right now. It's okay." _

_She accepts the bottle with a grateful nod. Anxious fingers begin to pick at the edge of the plastic label._

_"I don't know what I need," she whispers. Then, as it has so many times today, the irrepressible truth makes a bid for freedom. "Cassie. I… I need Cass." _

_The requested girl arrives within twenty minutes. Shelby, now lying on her side and staring blankly at the wall, doesn't even notice her presence until she hears a deep sigh and a muttered, "She told you guys, didn't she?" _

_"I didn't mean to," she whimpers as Cassie immediately climbs up onto the bed next to her and wraps her in a tight hug. "I didn't, I promise." _

_"Shhh, it's okay," Cassie says, squeezing her tightly. "I know you didn't, babe, I know. You're going to be okay."_

Two days later, Shelby slouched down on the couch in her new therapist's office. Hiram, Leroy and Cassie were all sitting in the waiting room and had sent her off with assurance that all or any of them would be happy to go in with her if she needed them. At that time, she still hadn't been completely sure of what she needed, but she'd taken the first step with her best friend holding one hand and the two men she now called family holding the other. For the first time, there was a sense of balance and stability propping her up.

It was never as though Hiram and Leroy had conducted a strategic invasion into the darkest areas of her mind, battering rams at the ready. Looking back now, Shelby would say it was a slower process than that - a more organic process. The unfaltering warmth of light and love had dried up the lake and made it impossible for her to keep the corpse hidden.

Shelby knows it's different with Rachel. She hasn't gradually evaporated the levels of protection her daughter has created for herself and whatever she's hiding - she's just created a storm of emotions so tempestuous that they sent the water sloshing and flung the corpse up prematurely.

That kind of uncovering would never last.

Not for her lack of trying, Rachel's lake has returned to a dreary shade of brown; she's squinting into the depths and scooping up futile handfuls of water filled with dislodged silt and renewed bitterness, but it's pointless. Every inquiry to her daughter is met with a swift rebuttal and an allegiance to some vow of silence. She doesn't even know whether she'll have all the right answers when she _does_ eventually figure it out. Even Hiram and Leroy hadn't always had them for her. Shelby's pretty sure they'd sat Cassie down and asked for her input on it all as someone who had always been there to guard those secrets and tend to those wounds, albeit in her own particular style.

Shelby needed Cassie. Hiram and Leroy needed Cassie. And, since Thursday night, the question of whom, if anyone, _Rachel's_ Cassie is has been plaguing her. It's run a thousand laps around her mind and yet she always finds herself back at the same starting point with a list of three names.

She can count on one hand the number of people she really, truly trusts and, though she would rarely admit it out loud, Jesse St. James has somehow snuck his way in to that exclusive club. No, she's not really sure how he managed it, either. She knows her daughter trusts, maybe _trusted_, him, too. A hundred and one mental debates on the topic, and she's pretty firmly come to the conclusion that, if Rachel had told Jesse a life-changing secret, he would have relayed it back to her.

That's one name ruled out.

While she knows very little else about Sophie, Shelby has first-hand experience of her and Rachel sharing some secrets between them. They hadn't been nearly covert enough to hide that from her. And, if she's following gut instinct, she would say that Sophie seems like a reliable and trustworthy girl. She always remembers to mix on her belts, after all. However, she knows that the two have never really socialised outside of school yet and, if Rachel's late night breakdowns with her are to be considered a constant variable, she finds it unlikely that a confession of this magnitude would have occurred on the grounds of Carmel High.

She can strike out the second name.

This, as always, brings her grudgingly around to her third and final suspect: Rachel's Boyfriend. Innate maternal rage has often blockaded this person from entering her mind; for now, anyway, it's proved far more beneficial for her blood pressure to try to forget about his existence. She knew the time would come when that would no longer be an option, she just never expected it to be under these circumstances. Jesse's similar, though staunchly denied, aversion to discussing the boy - child, punk, asshole - means that the title of 'Rachel's Boyfriend' is really all she has to work with.

Unfortunately, the more she thinks about it, the more likely it seems that he could be the one she's after. For all her prevalent insecurity, Shelby has found that Rachel is rather talkative when caught in the right time and place. During breakfast a few days ago, she'd had to tell Rachel to stop telling her about the politics of the McKinley glee club and actually eat the oatmeal in front of her if they wanted to make it to school on time. While highlighting Rachel's uncanny similarities to herself, this also granted Shelby some insight into her daughter's interpersonal relationships. Or lack thereof…

So, she's left with a nameless, faceless boy, who might be the key to finding out crucial information about her daughter.

_Why can't anything, just one thing, ever be easy?_

"Frown like that for too long and your face will get stuck."

A hard, stabilising blink and Shelby's eyes are suddenly looking deep into her mug of coffee. It takes several more before the visual becomes anything other than a murky blur, memories, questions and concerns retreating into the depths of the dark brown liquid. Finally, she looks up at Luke with a weak smile. He's propping himself up with one elbow on the countertop and, while there's still a thick haze across her field of vision, she doesn't miss the quizzical way he's examining her.

"I'm fine," she says quickly, answering the question he hasn't gotten out yet. After a final heavy blink for good measure, she brings her mug up to her lips and forces back the last dregs of the now-lukewarm coffee. "I was just thinking."

"I know," Luke replies easily, smirking at her. "I know your thinking face. I know all of your faces."

"That's cute," she mutters as she slips down off the barstool, grabbing up her phone and checking the time; of course, she's running late. With a frustrated sigh, she pockets the phone, her keys, and looks around for anything else she might be missing. She's always missing something these days. "Right now, I'm wearing my 'I've got to leave the house within the next five minutes or else the entire day's schedule is going to be thrown off' face."

"I recognised it," he says, holding up her phone charger. She accepts it with a harried nod and begins to search for her purse. "Ever heard of the phrase 'less haste, more speed'?"

Shelby glares at him as she stalks around the kitchen; she knows she left it somewhere in here last night. "Ever heard of the phrase 'single-handedly co-ordinating an event which will determine my team's entire budget for the year'? And if you _dare_," she continues, stopping abruptly and turning to him with a pointed finger, "if you _dare_ say anything about money being a social construct, I won't be held accountable for my actions."

"Wasn't going to," he says, throwing up his hands in defence. "Although now you mention it…"

"_Luke_."

"Kidding!"

She blows out another tense sigh through pursed lips and rakes a hand through her hair. "Where the fuckity fuck fuck fuck- _Aha!_"

She strides triumphantly over to her purse, lodged on one of the seats tucked into the rarely-used dining table, and squats as she begins to rearrange the contents. Her distracted brain can't quite control the motions of her fumbling fingers. When the emerald stone of her ring gets tangled in one of the netted pockets, she hisses irritably.

"You need to relax."

Luke's arms snake around her waist, his hands easily enveloping hers and working to liberate her caught finger. He squeezes her palms as she takes a ragged breath.

"I need to get to school," she says, blinking hard again. Her gaze had been falling deeper into the crevices of her purse. "We still have to run final tech and I need to rehearse the soloists."

"You need to relax," he repeats. He bows his head down to rest in the crook of her neck, hers naturally following until her cheek leans on his hair. "I know you're stressed about this - you have every right to be stressed about this, but letting it work you up like this isn't going to help."

"I'm trying."

"I know."

"I'm not trying hard enough."

"Yes, you are."

"You'd know what to do."

"No, I wouldn't," he says. Shelby can feel him smirking a little. "If I knew what to do, don't you think I would have passed the message along to you?"

"I mean, if it were me," she says, turning slowly to face him. "If it were me, you'd know what to do. You _did _do it. I didn't think I would ever tell anyone half the stuff I told you, but you got me to trust you. Cassie knows what to do with me. Hiram and Leroy knew what to do with me. Why can't I do it for her? Why… Why have _I _somehow got all these people who know how to deal with me when I don't know whether Rachel has that? I don't know how to get Rachel to have that. I… I should be that person for her, right?"

"You will be," Luke tells her. He secures her more tightly in his arms and smiles down at her. "You are, in a way. She let you in enough to tell you something's going on."

"And then she completely closed off. One step forwards, ten steps back."

He nods sympathetically. "You need to give her some time - I know she'll come around. Rome wasn't built in a day."

"But it burned in one," she says dryly. Still, there's a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I know. I know that I need to give her time but I… I just feel like I need to protect her. I need to and I can't because I have no idea what's hurting her. She's not okay, Luke."

"I know."

"I don't know what it is…" Shelby shakes her head, horrible images of Rachel's pained face filling her mind and a familiar feeling of burning panic flooding up from her stomach. "What if someone hurt her?"

"Shelbs…" Luke starts gently.

"No, I know," she cuts him off before he can say what she's already realised. "I know I'm only thinking that because of me but… She thinks I'm going to hate her - she really thinks that. I could _never_…"

"I know that," he says. "I think she knows it too, deep down."

Shelby's not so sure. There was a sincerity in her daughter's voice, a fear so pure that she's certain it's the bedrock. She can feel it all around her. That primal terror - it's a ghost that's been haunting her, haunting the whole house for the past two days.

"It could be anything…"

"And you'll drive yourself crazy trying to come up with every possibility," Luke points out.

"If I could turn it off, I would."

"I know," he sighs. He lifts one hand and uses it to tuck some hair behind her ear. "Do you remember what you told me? Back when we first met?" She sends him a quizzical frown. "Neither of us knew what we were doing with ourselves, but you were the one who told me that it's okay to be anxious about the future, so long as you keep going."

"That's different," she replies. "This isn't about choosing a career path or figuring out where to live. This is about helping Rachel."

"I agree. But you can't help Rachel until _she_ decides to let you help her. So, what you can do for now is to keep going. Keep letting her know that the option to talk to you about things will always be there. Keep reminding her that she's loved and that she's safe."

"Bu-"

"And I know," he continues, silencing her by placing a finger over her lips, "that you're worried about whatever it is that she might tell you and the fact that she's suffering now, but - to throw your own words back at you again - we're only in control of ourselves and the steps we take, right?" Shelby pouts a little. "Right?"

"Right," she eventually grumbles. She's thinking that she would quite like to travel back in time six years and tell herself to stop throwing bullshit life-coach phrases at a man she'd just met. She shakes her head tiredly. "No, you're right. Well, _I'm_ right. I'm not going to let you take all the credit when you're just quoting me."

Luke laughs. "I'm an academic. Reappropriating other people's words is sort of our thing."

"I'd never have encouraged you to do that if I knew you being this annoying was going to be the outcome."

"Too late," he grins. He leans down to kiss her softly; she drinks in the stability of it.

"And now _I'm_ officially late," she says before she pulls away and spins back to grab her purse. Gathering herself, she crosses to the door and calls Rachel down. As Luke wishes her luck and promises to be there in time to get a good seat, she can only hope that a good night's sleep has made her daughter's mood more agreeable.

000

Rachel's standing at one end of an aisle in a grocery store. The items around her fade into a nondescript, gaudy blur. For a while, she can't quite work out what she's doing here. She's the only person around, although she's sure she can hear a rattling voice echoing down through the tannoy system.

Then a figure breaks through the stillness at the other end of the aisle. Rachel squints to get a clearer view of the person. From the long, dark hair and graceful posture, she's almost certain it's a woman, but it's hard to make out anything more distinctive than that. The woman is casually browsing through the shelves, seemingly unperturbed by the store's eerie atmosphere.

Rachel hesitates for a moment. Is she supposed to go and ask her what they're both doing there? Where they actually are? How to get home? She would really like to be at home. As Rachel takes a breath to call out to her, there's a sudden burst of clarity, like someone has blown away a cloud of dust. If they have, Rachel's sure she chokes on it. The woman glances up at her and the features of her mother's face are as clear as if she were standing right in front of her.

"Mommy?"

She's taken aback by how young her voice sounds and, when she goes to take a step forward, she sees the hot pink ballet flats she's wearing. A look down at herself reveals that she's wearing a floaty pink dress and a cardigan. She frowns; she remembers this outfit. This is the exact outfit she wore for her sixth birthday party. There was a picture from the event hanging in the hallway outside her dads' bedroom for years.

Her mother gives no indication that she heard her. Instead, she continues to nonchalantly examine the products on the shelves.

Rachel swallows and forces her voice out again, "Mommy? Mommy, is that you? Can you help me?" Her ballet flats scuff against the floor as she begins to walk down the aisle. "Mommy! Mommy, it's me! It's Rachel."

Finally, when she's maybe fifteen feet away, her mother looks up. A deep frown crosses her face and she shakes her head.

"I'm so sorry, Rachel."

And, with that, the woman turns and begins to stalk away from her.

"Mommy!" Rachel cries. She follows as fast as she can, desperately trying to keep up with her mother's retreating figure, but her legs can't take long enough steps and her flats are begging to rub painfully into the backs of her feet. "No! Mommy, _please_! Wait please, Mommy. I need you! Mommy!"

Her mother never looks back and Rachel continues to chase after her. She's running now, panting and forcing herself forward through the burning in her feet and chest. At some point, she's not sure when, they leave the store. Suddenly, Rachel looks around and finds herself in a room filled with mirrors. Her mother lingers for a moment before disappearing behind a corner. When Rachel tries to follow, she feels herself slamming into a cool, hard surface. Pulling away, all she can see is the distorted reflection of her six-year-old self staring back at her. She spins around wildly, looking for an escape, but finds that same image leering back at her over and over again.

"No," she whimpers, panic rising up in her chest.

She knows rooms like these; she got stuck in one at a carnival. She'd been all alone and watched as the mirrors had shown her gradual descent into snivelling tears. She'd been so scared that she would never get out, that she would never see her dads again.

"Help me!" she calls out, fighting through the shake in her voice. "Mommy? Someone, _anyone_! Please!" Her last, frantic appeal echoes in the space around her.

Then, she hears a new voice calling back to her, "Rachel?"

Her heart skips a beat. "Dad?" she replies. "Dad, where are you?"

"Rachel? Star, we're right here," a second voice says.

"Daddy?" she shouts. "Daddy, I'm lost! I need you!"

"We're right here, Star," her daddy's voice answers.

Rachel takes a clumsy step in the direction she thinks the sound is coming from and, as she does so, the mirrors quickly disappear. She finds herself standing on a pedestal with a taught, black rope attached to one side of it. Dazzlingly bright lights shine down on her from above. She looks around again, trying to orient herself in the new space. When she looks behind her, a gasp that shudders all the way down her chest escapes her mouth.

Her dads are standing just a few feet away, holding hands and smiling warmly down at her. Instinctively, she moves to take a step towards them but finds there's nothing but air below her foot; the pedestal is keeping her separated from them.

"Dad! Daddy!" she cries out. "What do I do?"

"You have to keep moving forward, Star," her daddy says. He gestures behind her to the rope and Rachel cranes her neck around to look. The rope extends out from her own pedestal to a similar one looming in the distance: it's a tightrope.

"I can't do it," she says, shaking her head and looking up at her dads imploringly. "I can't. I'm going to fall."

"Sure you can, Star," her dad says gently. "It's just about putting one foot in front of the other."

"And look," her daddy continues, pointing again. "Your mom's waiting for you."

Rachel squints through the blazing light and sees her mother's silhouette illuminated on the other pedestal.

"Mommy," she whispers.

"That's right, Rach," her dad says, "she's right there."

"And we're right here, Star," her daddy adds, sending her a reassuring nod. "You can do it."

Rachel nods back. _She can do this_. Carefully, she treads up to the edge of her platform, swallowing hard as she peers below it into nothing but darkness. With a deep breath, she places one foot out onto the rope. In her pink ballet flat, her foot grips on tightly to the unsteady surface.

"That's it, Star," she hears her dad call out. "You're doing so well."

Strengthened by their words, she brings her other foot up and places it further out on the rope. She's wobbly, at first, swaying backwards and forwards as she uses all of her focus to stay upright and to keep moving further along the rope. She creeps closer and closer to the second pedestal and, with every inch, she can see more of her mother's face. This time, there's no frown. On the contrary, she's wearing a broad grin and is nodding encouragingly.

"Almost here, baby," she says. "You're doing so well, Star."

Rachel smiles back - she's almost there. Just a little bit further and she'll be safe again.

But, when she has maybe two more steps to go, a loud, metallic crash makes her whole body jolt. Then, the sound of two, piercing screams fills her ears. She tries to spin back around.

"Dad! Daddy!" she shrieks. Everything behind her is gone, replaced by an impenetrable darkness. "Daddy! Dad!"

In her frantic motions, she begins to lose her balance. Her arms spin in wild circles but it's futile; her feet slip off the tightrope. Pure instinct causes her hands to quickly grab onto the rope and she dangles in the air, her heart hammering in her chest. One ballet flat drops from her right foot, cascading down into the void at a hurtling pace. Rachel tightens the grip of her hands on the rope until her knuckles turn white. She looks up at the near pedestal, wondering whether she can somehow swing herself up onto it. Suddenly, her mother's body casts a looming shadow over her.

"Mommy!" she cries. "Mommy, help me!"

Her mother stays completely still. Rachel squints again, trying to read her expression. Why isn't she helping to pull her up? Doesn't she know she's about to fall?

"Mommy, _please!_" Rachel tries again. "I love you, Mommy. Please help me!"

Rachel's eyes have grown accustomed to the light now but, when she looks up at her mother, any trace of the smile, of the encouragement, of the _love_ is gone. She sends her a disgusted, icy glare, shakes her head and begins to storm away.

"Mommy!" Rachel shouts after her. "Mommy, no! _Please!_"

But her mother doesn't turn around. Instead, she lifts her foot and stamps hard on the pedestal three times. The force of the blow sends the tightrope swinging. Rachel's trying to hold on but her hands are covered in a thick coating of sweat and she can't stop herself from losing her grip, from slipping, from plummeting down into the depths of nothingness.

000

Shelby sighs as flicks her eyes over at Rachel. The girl is slumped in the passenger seat, one arm resting against the door and propping up her chin. Apparently, she has no interest in making pleasant conversation as they drive to school - she'd put her earbuds in the second they'd got into the car and has been staring out of the window ever since.

Shelby's not quite sure what she's done wrong now, but she knows better than to risk pushing a teenager into a state of exacerbated petulance this early on a Saturday morning. Instead, she flicks her own playlist on and begins to hum along.

Rachel lets out a little grunt, scowls at her, and makes a show of jacking the volume up on her phone. Once she's sure the girl is staring out the window again, Shelby rolls her eyes. Whether it's the result of some deep-rooted psychological trauma, tiredness, or simply teenaged angst, her daughter certainly isn't lacking in attitude.

After a few minutes, Rachel sits up a little straighter and pulls one earbud out. "Where are we going?" she asks. "This isn't the way to school."

"We're going to pick Jesse up."

Rachel scoffs. "Of _course_ we are."

"His car's in the shop, remember?" Shelby says, forcing herself not to react. "I told you yesterday evening that we were going to give him a ride."

"Whatever," Rachel mutters, returning her earbud and slouching back down.

Shelby takes a deep breath and clenches her hands around the steering wheel several times. _You can only control your own actions_, she reminds herself firmly. But she's having a hard time listening to herself. Her instincts are ricocheting wildly from side to side; while knowing that she should stick to the strategy she and Luke had devised, a large part of her would like nothing more than to park up, pull Rachel into her arms and not let go until she knows both what's going on with her daughter and is assured that the girl knows just how loved she really is.

When she does pull the car over, it's outside a large, wrought iron gate. Jesse greets her with a curtesy and a peace sign; she can't help but to smirk. Rachel, however, glowers at this interaction. She unclips her seatbelt and hikes herself over the console, landing with a thud into the backseat.

"Rachel!" Shelby scolds, whipping around to stare at the girl incredulously. "What was that for?" She uses the sleeve of her blazer to wipe off the scuff mark on the passenger seat.

Rachel simply shrugs and readopts her surly position in her new seat. "Didn't want to get in the way of anything," she mumbles.

Shelby frowns; she'd thought they'd already talked about this. She goes to reply but is cut off by Jesse opening the door and sliding into the newly vacated seat.

"You didn't have to do that, Rach," he says, peering at her over his shoulder.

When he gets no reply, he sends Shelby a questioning glance. The woman resignedly shakes her head in a silent reply. For once in his life, Jesse seems able to read the room. He shrugs before grinning wickedly and holding out his fist to Shelby.

"Happy performance day!"

"Jess," she sighs.

"_Happy performance day!_" he repeats, giving his fist a little shake.

With an exasperated sigh, though she can't quite hold back her smile, Shelby bumps her fist against his. "Happy performance day," she says sardonically. Before she pulls fully away, she reaches out and clasps his hand. "Jesus, you're freezing. You didn't have to wait outside, you know? I would have texted you." She catches his other hand and begins to rub them between her own, trying to warm him up.

"Stop, I'm _fine_," he whines, though he doesn't snatch them back straight away. "And it's okay. I didn't really want to wait inside."

Shelby catches his eye and gives him a knowing look as she puts the car back into drive. "Belt, please," she says. Once she's pulled out, she glances at him cautiously. "It was bad?"

Jesse shrugs and refuses to meet her eyes; she can practically _see_ his walls coming up. "It was fine," he replies offhandedly. "Elliot's home so… You know? And my dad… I- I don't know. It's fine."

"Jess-"

"It's _fine_," he snaps. They both wince a little at his harsh tone. "Sorry," he mutters. "I'm fine, I swear." Before Shelby can respond, he's turned in his seat again and is now holding out his fist to Rachel. "Happy performance day!"

In the rear-view mirror, Shelby watches as Rachel rolls her eyes and pulls out her earbud again.

"What?"

"Happy performance day," Jesse repeats. "You have to do it or else we'll have a bad show."

"Why?" Rachel asks with a raised eyebrow.

"It's just tradition," he says. "I always make Shelby do it, and now you're here too so you have to do it."

Shelby looks up in the mirror again, trying to read her daughter's impassive face. For a split-second their eyes meet before Rachel quickly flicks her gaze away.

"Sure, whatever," she says, bumping her fist into Jesse's. "Happy performance day."

Jesse turns back in his seat, a smug grin playing on his lips. "And what a great one it's going to be, ladies. I can feel it."

000

Two hours later, Rachel is finding herself more and more skeptical over that assertion. Shelby's been rehearsing her soloists for a while and, with the exception of Jesse, she begrudgingly admits to herself, things don't seem to be falling into place.

She's sitting in the row behind her mother's desk, trying to complete her math homework, a task made significantly more difficult by the fact that she can't help but to wince each time Giselle's voice defects from the right key. She notes that Shelby seems to have a similarly visceral response, her body stiffening with each bum note and her grip on her coffee mug tightening so much that Rachel wouldn't be surprised if it soon exploded into a thousand tiny shards.

While she doesn't enjoy the assault on her ears, nor the intense stress emanating out of her mother's body, she has to feel a little smug that it's Giselle who's undergoing such an ego check.

_Suck on that_.

When the girl cracks on her final note, Shelby flings her hands over her face in frustration.

"Enough!" she barks, making everyone in the room jump a little. "What did I say last week, Giselle? Vocal rest! And did you do that?"

Giselle's mouth opens and closes several times, her eyes flicking between the other soloists sat in the front row and her teacher. Rachel thinks she looks kind of like the goldfish her dad used to have in his office when she was little. That particular goldfish had a habit of continually swimming into the walls of its enclosure.

"I'll take that as a 'no'," Shelby continues coolly. "Take a break, grab some water and some honey and we'll try it again. But I'm warning you now, if I don't think you're going to hit those notes in the showcase later, I'm pulling you out and Rachel will sing your number."

For once, both Rachel and Giselle seem to be on the same page. Two mouths gape open and two sets of eyes widen in shock. Rachel squirms uncomfortably when Jesse and Andrea both turn to stare at her. She couldn't do that. She understands that it's probably mostly a threat from Shelby meant to push Giselle into action, but her stomach still constricts at the thought of it. She hasn't performed solo in front of a crowd since… Well, not for a long time. And the last performance she'd coordinated at McKinley had resulted in Mr. Schuester calling her grandmother to discuss her 'inappropriate' behaviour. She's not on a winning streak.

"You can't do that, Miss C!" Giselle whines petulantly. "That's not fair!"

"Actually, what I think would be truly unfair is subjecting an audience to _that_," Shelby says evenly. She folds her arms over her chest and sits back in her chair. "I'm not trying to be unreasonable here, but I gave you an instruction - as your vocal coach - which _you_ elected to ignore, and I won't let my showcase suffer because of that."

"But why _her?_" Giselle asks. When her livid eyes begin to bore into Rachel, the girl quickly ducks her head and returns her attention to her homework. "She's barely even on the team! Why is she even here early?"

"I told you," Jesse pipes up from his seat, "I give Rachel a ride so she had to come in early with me. Got a problem with that?"

Giselle turns her icy glare on him. "She's _using_ you! Can't you see that? She's using you to get ahead and you're all just letting her!"

Rachel feels her breathing pick up, a tightness accumulating in her chest. She pushes herself down into her chair, willing it to just swallow her up.

"Ha! You don't know _anything_," Jesse says, getting to his feet. "And, FYI, Rach wouldn't have to _use_ me because, unlike you, she actually has talent!"

"That's _enough_," Shelby snaps. She, too, rises to her feet and shakes her head as she looks down at her students. "You guys are a _team!_ Act like it! I know you're all nervous but this isn't how we handle it, okay? Everyone, go cool off, get a drink and when you get back here, try to conduct yourselves like the National champions I know you are. Got it?"

A muttered reply of, "Got it," drifts through the auditorium.

"Lovely," Shelby says tightly. "Giselle, go wait in my office, please. The rest of you have five minutes."

She takes a deep breath and, after everyone has gone, turns to approach Rachel. The girl has been sipping from her own bottle of water, hoping that might alleviate some of the heat she can feel burning in her cheeks.

She doesn't look up immediately when she feels her mother looming over her; she doesn't want to see the pity or the concern or the anger or the frustration etched across her features. She's still hoping the chair might accept her as a mid-morning snack sometime soon.

"Are you okay, honey?" Shelby asks. She hovers uncertainly for a moment before lowering herself down into the adjacent chair.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replies, forcing on a small smile.

"I didn't mean to dump you in the middle of all of that. I'm so sorry, Rachel. I'm going to deal with Giselle now."

Rachel waves off both her mother's concern and the uncanny chill which runs through her. "It's fine, I promise." She finally looks up to see Shelby eyeing her with a skeptical unease. "What?"

"I… I'm sorry if I was pushy about things yesterday, Rach."

"Shelby, I-"

"I know," the woman says, putting her hands up. "I know. You're fine and you don't want to talk about it and you shouldn't have said anything to me." Rachel cringes - had she been that repetitive in trying to avoid her mother's questions. "But I don't want us to fight, okay? I just need you to know that I'm here, that I'm not going anywhere and that I love you."

"Okay," is all Rachel can think to reply.

When she woke up yesterday morning with her mother still sleeping soundly in bed next to her, it was like a million conflicting feelings hit her all at once. They pushed and pulled her in every direction and unrelentingly flung her body around like she was a rag doll in a tumblr dryer. She's not sure how she could have ever been so _stupid_. Yes, she had the dream again, but that's really no excuse. She's had it several times over the past week and she hadn't almost outed herself to her mother on all of those occasions.

It was just so _careless_; it's not like her at all and she hates more than anything that she's losing control, that it's slipping out through her sweaty fingers and that she now can't do anything to get it back. Now, she knows she'll have to work twice as hard to keep everything in order, especially when Shelby keeps giving her that deeply sympathetic look. When she sees that, she wants nothing more than to fall into her arms again and tell her everything. But then it will all be ruined. Over. Done.

She's finding it harder and harder to keep her balance. The winds are picking up and the tightrope is shaking underneath her and the second pedestal keeps getting further and further away.

"Okay," Shelby repeats. She gently squeezes Rachel's knee and smiles at her before standing up. "Do you know Giselle's number?"

Rachel gives a small nod. During a normal day, a normal time, a normal life, she's sure she would be able to sing it in her sleep.

"Good," Shelby smirks. "I won't force you to if you don't want to, but just be ready."

"Sure."

"Atta girl. I love you."

She doesn't bother to wait for the reply that Rachel never gives, and walks towards the large doors which lead towards her office, heels clacking. Rachel blows out a deep breath and leans her head back on the top of her chair, staring up into the bright stage lights.

"I love you too, Mommy," she whispers to herself.

000

"Thank the fucking lord," Shelby whispers to _herself _several hours later. She's done it. Her kids have done it. _Her_ kid did it. She's been standing alone backstage, biting at the skin around her fingers anxiously, and employing some kind of cosmic power to ensure that nobody fucked up. And they didn't.

After a brief and, in Shelby's opinion, only _marginally_ intimidating, one-on-one with Giselle earlier, the girl had actually managed to get through her song. No one screwed up Dakota's intricate choreography. And, much to her delight, their rendition of last year's winning Nationals performance had several of the coaches in the crowd looking like they might need to change their underwear.

She'll call it a job well done.

Well, almost done.

The task remains, of course, to go and schmooze all of the current and potential booster club members who are in attendance. It's her least favourite part of the whole affair, but even she knows that she's good at it. A light dash of flirting here, a pinch of overzealous laughter there - she always manages to turn them to putty.

She congratulates her team as they pile off the stage, showcasing where exactly the 'adrenaline' in their name comes from. Her heart bursts when she sees Rachel and Sophie exchanging a high-five and Cami approaching them to compliment them on their debut performances. For once, her kid is just a kid and there's nothing in the world that makes her happier than seeing that. She watches as they hurry back towards the changing rooms with a fond smile.

"Rate my solo out of ten?"

"6.85," she says without turning around.

"We'll round that up to 6.9 then, shall we?"

She shoots Jesse a disgusted look. "Uncouth child."

He laughs. "I was pretty good though, right?"

"I'm not feeding your ego right now, Jess," she sighs.

"But it's so hungry," Jesse pouts, batting his eyelashes fervently.

"Starve, then." She allows his pout to deepen just a little more before rolling her eyes and hugging him tightly. "You were amazing, Jess. I'm so proud of you," she whispers into his ear.

"Yeah?" he asks as he pulls away. Most of the playful smugness has disappeared from his face; she can only see traces of it in the shy, almost childlike expression he wears now.

"Yeah," she confirms, running her hand up and down his arm. "Do you know if your parents made it?"

Jesse scoffs. "Unlike you, I've given up on that even being a possibility."

"I'm sorry," she says quietly. "They really don't know what they're missing. You really are a star, Jesse and if they don't want to be a part of that then that's on them."

He nods and blinks heavily a few times; Shelby pretends she doesn't notice the wetness gathering in his blue eyes.

"Thanks," he whispers, smiling at her appreciatively. "At least I've always got you, right?"

"At least you've always got me," Shelby says. She cups his face until he looks at her properly. "I love you, Jess, and I promise you, no matter what is going on for either of us, you're always an incredibly important person in my life, okay?"

She can feel his chin tremble a little as he gives a small nod. "I love you too."

They hold each other's gaze for a moment, both knowing that this look is worth more than any number of words. Then, Shelby blows out a breath and blinks hard, conjuring up a more light-hearted expression.

"Come on," she says, ushering him out of the backstage area. "I've got to go and get my corporate ass-licking on."

"Hmm. Interesting. I think I'll change back into my jeans, personally."

Shelby finds Rachel lingering just outside the girls' changing room, furiously tapping out a message on her phone. She's quickly changed back into own clothes, but has left her stage hair and makeup on. When she's in her pajamas, barefaced and with slightly rumpled hair, Shelby often thinks that she could pass for much younger that fourteen. Now, however, she looks almost like an adult.

It causes an ache somewhere in Shelby's gut. They only have four years together until Rachel goes off to college and into her adult life. She realises that it's stupid to be hurt over this when it's her own fault that their time together is so limited. Still, she reminds herself, it's normal and valid to be anxious over future unknowns so long as she keeps going forward.

She taps on her shoulder and juts her head towards the far end of the hallway - somewhere they're less likely to be disturbed. Rachel nods and holds up a finger. She completes her message before following after her mother.

"How are you feeling?" Shelby asks. She leans against the wall and folds her arms over her chest.

"Good," Rachel replies with a firm nod. For the first time, Shelby is tempted to believe her.

"You were incredible out there, Rach," she says.

Her daughter wrinkles her nose in disbelief but she shakes her head; there are no words to describe what she's feeling. Getting the chance to watch her baby perform and look out over the audience, seeing nothing but awestruck faces gazing back at her? It's really a feeling like no other. Knowing that she was the one who was able to give her that opportunity? Well, it just makes everything that much sweeter.

"I was only in _Rehab_," Rachel says. "And it's not like I was featured or anything."

"You were the only one I was really watching," Shelby tells her. That's true; for everyone else onstage, maybe bar Jesse, it was more of an examination under a watchful eye. "I'm _so_ proud of you. You… You really are my star, you know?"

Rachel's face flickers at the word, but, much to Shelby's relief, she ends up smiling. "Thank you. And, while I do think you're maybe a little biased, I will admit that it did feel amazing to be back up there."

"It's where you belong." She grins as Rachel's cheeks flush pink. "Okay," she says, fixing her daughter with a more pragmatic look, "I could go on but I know you probably want to go celebrate with your team rather than listening to me get all emotional. So, there are a few people I need to talk with. I hopefully won't be more than an hour, but Jesse will be around and Luke's here somewhere too, okay? Just stay out in the foyer area please. There's a lot of people around and I don't want you wondering about back here by yourself."

"Sure," Rachel nods. Her tone is polite, but from her anxious bouncing, Shelby can tell she's desperate to end this conversation.

"Okay, off you go," she says, smirking when the girl practically bounces away. "Oh- and Rach?" She turns back, still bobbing up and down in her excitement. 'I love you,' Shelby mouths with a wink.

Rachel sends her a genuine smile before scurrying away. Shelby leans her head back against the wall for a moment; maybe today doesn't have to be such a shitty and stressful day.

She's at the tail-end of a particularly tedious conversation with a man maybe in his late-fifties when a flurry of brown hair shoots past her a few minutes the later. The forced smile, which was already turning stale on her face, droops as her gaze follows her daughter disappearing into a crowd of unfamiliar kids. _Weird…_

"So, in summary, my wife and I would be pleased to continue to support your endeavours in this academic year, Miss Corcoran. Miss Corcoran?"

"Huh? _Oh_," Shelby says, swallowing hard and ramping up the smile on her face. "Oh, that's very generous of you." She hands him one of the informational pamphlets tucked under her arm and shakes his hand. _Do _not _flinch - the clamminess will go away. You have hand sanitiser in your pocket._ "Thank you again, and it was great to be able to talk to you M… Sir!"

He smiles at her and walks away. She shakes her head at herself; she needs to get it together. Rachel's fine, she's safe, she's… talking to a rather tall boy. Immediately, all of her senses go on high alert and her eyes narrow into dangerous slits as she scrutinises their encounter closely. Rachel's laughing. Is that flirtatious laughing? The boy looks too dopey to be properly funny. That _has_ to be a fake laugh, right? It's all in the hand movements - if she plays with her hair, touches her face, gives him a strategically pathetic push, _then_ she'll know for sure whether this is the boy she's after.

"I don't think that's him," a voice says quietly in her ear. The sudden rupture from her concentrated thoughts is enough to practically send her jumping off the floor in shock. She turns to glare menacingly at Jesse, though she does wait for him to present his evidence. "She told me he's called Noah," he continues. "I don't think that guy looks like a Noah." Jesse tilts his head. "He looks like a Kyle."

"Or a David?"

Shelby turns to her other side to see Luke also now staring intently at the boy. She rolls her eyes though she shouldn't be all that surprised that her two boys are together - sometimes it's enough to make _her_ feel like the third-wheel.

"Mmm," Jesse nods in agreement. "Good call - I can see that."

"Right?" Luke says, leaning around Shelby to look at him. He raises his hand up to his head. "It's in the hair, you know? He's just giving me those vibes."

"Could be a Michael?"

"I don't mind Michael on him. Dylan, maybe?"

"You're really on a roll with these D names."

"I think it's something about the plaid."

"You know, now you say it, I really get that."

"Are you two done?" Shelby hisses irritably, looking between them. They grin at each other devilishly around her before nodding solemnly when she hardens her glare. She's sure she can see them both biting back smirks, however. They're worse than her Freshmen.

"Yes, ma'am," Luke says contritely, causing Jesse to muffle a snort on her other side.

"Shut up, both of you." She returns her focus over to the other side of the room, only to find that her daughter has now disappeared from view. _Just brilliant_. "Thanks a fucking lot," she says. "Happy now? Now Rachel's probably off fornicating with him somewhere?"

"Shelbs," Luke says more seriously, "you don't even know for sure that he's here. We don't even know whether that guy goes to her old school."

"I'm willing to take my chances." She goes to walk towards the gaggle of kids, including the tall boy, but is stopped when both of her hands are pulled backwards. "_What?_"

"I don't think that's a good idea," Jesse says and Luke nods his agreement. "I mean, sure, I'm here for you eventually making the guy regret the day he was born, but what are you going to do? Just find Rachel and start interrogating her about him? No offence, but you guys are still on _pretty_ rocky ground."

Shelby bristles. _Offence well and truly taken_. "I have a right to know who he is, at least," she argues. "I'm her mom - I should get to meet her boyfriend."

"I don't disagree," Luke says. "But you have a job to be doing right now, and don't you think it might be good for Rachel to get to spend time with someone who's important to her? There's been a lot of upheaval in her life recently."

"I know that," she snaps. Her anger ebbs away, resolve weakening, when she looks between their stern expressions. "Okay fine. Fine! I won't go and hunt him down." _Yet_…

"Good," Luke says. He reaches out and gently squeezes her hand in the way that holds a special calming power for her. "You go talk to all the people you need to talk to. I'll keep an eye out for Rach and babysit this one for you."

"Babysit?" Jesse scoffs. "I don't need a _babysitter_."

"Okay. How about a chum?"

"Is this the 1920s?"

"Buddy?"

"Sounds like we're going on a fishing trip."

"Companion?"

Jesse tilts his head in consideration. "Perfect. I like the homoerotic undertones."

Shelby glares at her boyfriend. "Stop teaching him inappropriate terms, please!"

"He likes it!" Luke protests, and looks to the boy for support.

"I do," Jesse nods. "Besides, you're always the one saying I have a big brain, Shelby."

"I think big-_headed_ is the term I use actu-"

"Bye, Shelbs!" Luke says, planting a quick kiss on her cheek before they both walk away, laughing to themselves.

She shakes her head after them, a smirk playing on her lips. Still, once they're out of sight, she strategically positions herself close to the group Rachel was in. She lingers fruitlessly for a moment and is about to give up and return to the task at hand - her actual job - when she sees dark brown hair bouncing up and down in an enthusiastic nod. She inches into the crowd in what she hopes is a surreptitious manner, sending off tight-lipped smiles to anyone whose eye she catches.

It's when she's in close enough to see the face of the man Rachel is talking to that she feels the need to let out an exasperated groan. _What are the fucking chances?_ She should know by now, of course, that coincidences seem to be a recurring theme in her life. Still, the fact that the 'Mr. Schuester' she can remember her daughter telling her about is _that_ Will Schuester is painfully laughable.

He glances up briefly from Rachel's face and seems to do a double take as he recognises her. She smiles back and raises her eyebrows; his confused expression is showing everything she feels. She's about to raise her hand in greeting when a man approaches her from the side.

"Miss Corcoran?" Shelby turns with a vacant nod. "Hi, my name is Andrew Peterson. I was wondering whether I could ask you a few questions about your seat dedication scheme?"

"Uh, sure," Shelby says quickly, trying to readjust her brain. She quickly glances back over her shoulder, but Will and Rachel have both disappeared into the crowds again. _She'll be fine_, she tells herself firmly. _You need to do your job_. Her well-rehearsed show face slips into place. "So, Mr. Peterson, the seat dedication scheme is what I like to think of as a little win-win scenario…"

000

**Text Message**

**Saturday, 20th October**

**3:18 p.m.**

**_Noah: _**_waitin round the side by big red door_

**_Rachel_**_: Okay, I'm coming right now_

Rachel's heart flutters in her chest; for the first time in a long time, this is for a purely good reason. She practically skids around the corner from the main foyer and scans the slightly more deserted area carefully. While she can't see her boyfriend, she does see a familiar head of curly hair standing in front of a vending machine and this gives her the most brilliant idea.

"Jesse!" she calls, bounding over to him.

"Hey," he grins. He bends down to retrieve the two cans of Sprite he's just bought. "We've all been looking for you."

"All?"

"Me, Shelby, Luke," he says in a _duh_ tone.

"Oh." Rachel shakes her head. For once, she's barely thinking about them right now. "Well, I'm here, I'm fine." She gestures to herself to make her point. "Listen, I really need a favour from you."

"A favour?"

"Yep," she says, thinking about how best to approach this. "Can I borrow your key to Shelby's office?" It's Jesse: the direct attack seems most logical.

"My key?" he questions. A hand holding a can comes up to scratch the back of his head. "I don't have a key. Not anymore. She made me give it - them - back."

"_Jesse_," Rachel whines. "I wasn't born yesterday - I know you must have kept one for yourself." His lips curl inwards guiltily. "Can I _please please please_ borrow it? Just for now?"

She sees him begin to waiver and knows it times to whip out the big guns. Lips? Pouted. Eyes? Wide. Posture? Pathetic.

"_Please_? You do kind of owe me."

"For what?" he asks, frowning.

"For the whole keeping Shelby a secret thing," Rachel whispers, looking down morosely. "You know how much that hurt me."

Jesse sighs and shrugs defeatedly. "Fine," he says, tucking one can under his armpit so that he can reach into his back pocket. He produces the key and holds it just out of her reach. "But I'm taking no responsibility for any shit we might get into because of this."

"That's fine," Rachel agrees quickly. She rocks up on her tip-toes, secures the key in her grasp and then flashes him a mega-watt smile. "This really does mean so much to me, Jesse."

"Sure," he replies. She can hear the apprehension and premature regret seeping into his tone, but she doesn't bother to worry about that too much now.

She's got exactly what she wanted and, as she skips away from Jesse towards the fire escape where Noah's waiting for her, a sly grin spreads across her lips. Any 'shit' she does get into will most definitely be worth it.

* * *

_**A/N: At least it's pretty long? This did take a while but I really feel like it's been the fastest two months of my life. Emotions, emotions, emotions. Moving back home with no real prospects. Emotions. I'll repeat :S**_

_**First off: The revelations about Lea Michele were upsetting to me. The ~allegations~ (lol) against her represent values I would never want to condone. However, let's employ Barthes' 'Death of the Author' here and recognise that we can ****separate**** character from actor. This story means too much to me to abandon over that. **_

_**More importantly, I just want to quickly pay my respects to Naya Rivera. I haven't written Santana, but, as a character, she was very important to me and I know that Naya advocated a lot for her story to be told properly. As a young teenager struggling to come to terms with my sexuality, seeing a confident, developed and strong lesbian every week was a crucial reminder that it's okay to feel how you feel. I know that this is the case for a lot of other queer women and I truly believe that a whole generation of us have a lot to thank her for. **_

_**I have every intention of getting the next chapter out quickly. As always, this one was supposed to cover more (lol) sooooo it's pretty planned out. Spawn, ily- your little reminders really do keep me going and I hope you're okay. If anyone would like to tell me what to do with my life, or employ me, I'm all ears. **_

_**Love and appreciate you all. Stay safe. Stay happy. **_

_**-xo**_


	16. Anybody Have a Map?- Part I

_**A/N- Boom. Three weeks. Not too shabby. Enjoy!**_

* * *

Rachel's fingers clutch onto the seams of Noah's grey t-shirt, pulling him even closer in towards her as though she's trying to meld their bodies into one. He's sitting in the desk chair in her mother's office and has her straddled over his lap, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist just the way she likes it.

She needs to feel him, to latch on to the sense of security he provides and to remind herself that she's finally back with him. He's kissing her so deeply that she almost feels as though his tongue is trying to memorise every crevice of her mouth. She lets him do it willingly, but that's not what's really dominating her thoughts.

She's just missed _him_. It's the way he doesn't say too much, or ask too many questions, especially if she doesn't bring anything up first. She's missed how he never pries. She's missed how he likes to remind her that he's there with all kinds of physical gestures - a protective arm slung over her shoulders, or the way he captures her chin in his hand before he kisses her. She's missed his body in how it envelopes her own, like he's pulling her into his cocoon of safety. It's hard and strong and stable, but Rachel always sinks into it like they're two clouds over a lake on a warm summer's day.

It's the most comforting place she can think of - Noah would _never_ let anything bad happen to her while she's resting against him. Everything's been so precarious and the tightrope is swinging and thoughts are swirling around her head so fast that she can never get a proper grip on them, let alone start to understand where she's supposed to go from here. Noah fixes that. She leans up against his chest, presses her mouth onto his, and it's like everything else disappears.

"God, I missed you so much," he mutters when he pulls away for a moment. He meets her eyes and lets his thumb trace over her swollen lips. "You're amazing."

And then he's trailing kisses along her jawline and down her neck. She finds herself grinning maniacally. _She's amazing_. It's a compliment that isn't out of familial obligation, or a bargaining tool used to reduce her defences so that somebody else can get what they want. He's saying it because he believes it, and, just for a moment, it means that she can believe it too.

Noah's hands slink down her back, reaching up under the hem of her sweater and caressing the bare skin of her waist. Instinctively, she leans in closer to him and nudges his head back up, rejoining their lips. She closes her eyes and allows herself to relish in his hunger for her, his delirious desperation to feel every part of her.

Rachel has spent her whole life knowing that she's special and trying to figure out how to get everyone else to see that. Her dads _always_ made her feel like she really was the star that they'd chosen from the heavens to create their perfect family. She lost them and the sparkle disappeared; she was no longer a shining star, burning bright with passion and vigour. Instead, she was just burning out. Noah gives her fuel. He looks at her with those dark eyes and she knows she's once again being seen as a guiding light of hope and excitement.

When she'd once tried to explain this to him, he'd frowned in confusion, but said that it reminded him of the Hanukkah story his mom tells him every year. Rachel hadn't minded being compared to a miracle of that magnitude at all.

This time, she pulls away and smiles shyly up at him, drinking in every inch of his face.

"I've really missed you too, Noah," she whispers. "I… Everything's just been a lot recently, and you know that's when I always need you the most."

He nods as he mulls over her words, his face turning bitter. "It's not fair that she's keeping you away from me. I mean, she hasn't even met me."

"I- I'm not sure that she is," Rachel says tentatively. "Not in the way you're thinking. We haven't really got around to having that, you know… That _type of discussion_ yet."

She can feel the blood rushing to her cheeks and ducks her head. It's been months now and she's still terrible at verbalising the intricacies of their relationship. It seems to sully it, somehow.

"But she knows about me?"

"I- I think so."

Nobody's brought it up for sure, but she can't imagine that Jesse didn't jump at the first opportunity to tattle to her mother about him. She doesn't dare say that now, though. She loves that Noah's bigger than her, stronger than her, and always chivalric enough to defend her honour, but none of this gives her much confidence that she would be able to prevent him going after Jesse if he wanted to.

He sighs as he moves one hand from her waist to her leg. Her plaid skirt has ridden up slightly, allowing him more room to trace his calloused fingers over her thigh.

"The whole thing seems so unfair to you, Rach," he says. She's sure she starts to glow at his concern. "Your mom who didn't give a crap for all this time comes back and suddenly your whole life has to change? It's fucking bullshit. You deserve to have people around you who really know you and care about you. Like me."

She'd been about to interrupt him - to point out that his version of events is slightly skewed in that she'd already been forced to move schools before even meeting Shelby - but she's glad she didn't. She needed to hear that.

As she's trying to fall asleep each night, she attempts to lay out the rational facts for herself. She knows in her heart of hearts that Shelby _does_ love her, and is trying to help her in whatever way she can. But there's another feeling - one that sits below that, right in the pit of her stomach. It feels like a ticking bomb and, with every beat of her heart, it throbs with its unwavering insistence that she's doomed. There's no mutual coexistence between these two feelings, either; they launch stealthy attacks on each other all day long, pushing and pulling the frontline up and down her body. Her head can hardly keep up.

Sometimes, she feels as though she barely knows herself these days. How, therefore, could her mother know anything about her? All she's ever really seen is whatever flickering projection of herself Rachel's managed to summon up that day. Her secrets are swelling - everything keeps poking at angry wounds which never properly healed - and it's getting harder and harder to squeeze her show face back on over them.

But Noah knows her.

When she was five, she'd insisted to her dads that she was big enough to go down the big slide at the park, just like all the other kids. She wasn't. Her tiny frame had juddered down through the metal tunnel and the momentum had sent her hurtling out with such force that all she'd been able to do was shut her eyes and scream. Instead of splattering out onto the gritty turf, however, she'd found herself landing on top of a larger, stronger body. Noah heard her coming and made sure he was there to catch her when she hit the ground.

When she was twelve, he was the only person she'd recognised when she had to switch middle schools. He'd made himself her tour guide on her first day and got her to promise that she would report back on any teasing from the kids in her grade. The slide was steeper, the descent bumpier than ever, but Noah had once again softened her blow.

At the start of summer this year, they'd been walking around the parking lot of her dance studio when she'd expressed some concerns about starting high school. Noah had leaned over, kissed her, and told her that he already ruled the school; he would protect her.

Now, she doesn't know how to reply, so she just kisses him again. He groans in contentment when his hands slide under her skirt; she can only hope that permission to do that is enough to convey her gratitude to him.

It's after just a few, heated minutes that Rachel's phone begins to buzz on the desk. She pulls away from him and leans over to pick it up, nerves already beginning to reconvene in her stomach. But Noah's got quicker reflexes. He grabs her wrist and slides his hand up hers to interlock their fingers.

"Just leave it," he mutters before returning his mouth to her neck.

"It's probably my mo- _Shelby_," Rachel says. She squints at the phone, futilely trying to read the name on its screen.

"Exactly."

"Noah…"

"Rach, she gets you all the time," he says, frowning down at her. "Who knows how long I'm going to have to wait to see you again? I've missed you, babe."

The phone has already stopped ringing, but she wouldn't have answered it anyway. He's got a point and she concedes this by kissing him again.

The next time it rings, it's just as he's whispering how hot she is into her ear. The time after that, he's already put her hands under his shirt, and her fingers are concerned with tracing the pattern of his abs. She doesn't even notice when it rings for a fourth time.

In fact, she's wrapped so tightly up in Noah's cocoon, that the outside world seems to cease to exist completely. He's Noah Puckerman, the youngest person to make the McKinley football team for almost a decade, the strongest and safest person she knows, and a _very _good kisser. She's Rachel Berry, a shooting star that almost fell out of orbit, and a girl who has to remind herself to breathe every few seconds because her brain is always so preoccupied.

But, in this moment, she's simply Rachel, Noah's girlfriend. They're just Rachel and Noah together. She's with Noah Puckerman, and he's with-

"Rachel Berry!"

Their lips break apart with a mangled squelch and she jerks backwards so vigorously that she topples right off his lap, landing with a thud on the office floor. The smack of her head against the thin carpet tile sends her shooting out of Noah's cocoon. Reality crashes down around her in the form of lurid overhead lighting and Noah's muttered expletives. Within seconds, her mother's face is hovering over her.

"Crap- Rach, are you okay?"

Rachel blinks groggily a couple of times, acclimatising herself with the brash physicality of it all. Everything she's managed to repress while she's been with Noah hits her like a tidal wave. Her stomach churns as all of the horrible feelings resettle and she can see the anger still lingering in the tightness of her mother's face.

"Rachel?" Shelby says, reaching behind the girl's back to help pull her up.

The second her hand makes contact, Rachel shrugs her off. "I'm _fine_," she spits. Ignoring the dull aches in her back and in her heart, she pushes herself up off the floor and straightens out her clothes. Her insides are not so easy to fix; everything is swirling and scrambled and sloshing. She latches onto the first familiar emotion that bubbles up - anger.

"Are you sure?" Shelby asks. She, too, stands up from her kneeling position and moves to check the back of Rachel's head for signs of injury.

"I said I'm _fine,_" the girl repeats coldly. She takes a step backwards towards Noah and folds her arm tightly over her chest. "What do you want?"

"What do I _want_?" Shelby repeats, shaking her head and matching her daughter's posture.

"Yeah," Rachel says. She throws a minute glance over her shoulder to Noah for strength, and then eyes her mother with a raised eyebrow. "What do you want?"

"Fine," Shelby says brusquely. "What I _want_ is to know why you think it's okay to ignore my instructions not to come down here, and then to ignore all of my phone calls." She nods at the phone on the desk. "You must have heard it. I was _worried_, Rachel - I didn't know where you'd gone. Why didn't you answer?"

Rachel swallows. "I was busy."

"_Busy_? Busy doing what? Breaking into my office so that you can-" Shelby stops herself suddenly, swinging her eyes shut and shaking her head again. "No, you know what? We're not doing this here. Let's go."

"No," Rachel whines instinctively.

It's too soon. She's only just got Noah back and she _needs_ him. She looks up at him pleadingly, but his eyes are narrowed in on Shelby's face.

"Yes," Shelby says. She stands back and points out the door. "We're going home."

"_No_."

"_Yes_."

"_No_," Rachel repeats, with a stomp of her foot. "I'm not going with you."

"Rachel," Shelby warns, her tone low and dangerous. When the girl simply shakes her head again, she walks towards her and locks her hand around her arm.

Rachel can't help but to flinch at the touch. It doesn't hurt, and her mother doesn't immediately try to haul her from the office, but still, everything just feels too familiar.

She'd been doing okay; Noah had caught her in his strong arms and she was settling in at school. Then, her grandmother had come home from work early and spotted Noah's truck in their driveway. The door to Rachel's room had been flung open and, once again, the girl had been dragged away from everything safe. She was pushed out into the void without any clue as to where she was going. And now it's all happening again. Every time she manages to feel some like some semblance of the star she once was, it's like there's a black hole waiting to swallow her up.

There's an impenetrable darkness and she's being squeezed so tightly that she's sure everything in her stomach and her heart is about to come spewing out.

"Rachel?" a soft voice says. And then there's a soft hand on her cheek to match. "Rachel, baby? Can you look at me?"

"Don't touch her!"

"I'm her _mom_."

At that word, Rachel forces her eyes back open. Her mother is standing right in front of her, eyeing her carefully. The hand on her arm has moved to squeeze her own, clammy palm.

"Hi, baby," Shelby whispers. "Let's get you home, okay? We can talk about all of this later."

Rachel manages to suck in a shaky breath. "N-Noah."

"I want to have a quick word with him and then you guys can say goodbye for now," Shelby tells her, eyes lifting to look at the sullen boy standing behind them. "Go and wait outside for me. I'll be right there."

Rachel manages a weak nod and allows herself to stumble out of the office. She can't even think why she thought that would be a good place to go. Nothing good ever comes out of being in that room.

"Jesus- you look like… Are you okay?"

She looks up to see Jesse sitting on a table a few feet away, swinging his legs back and forth. Something about the rocking motion is nauseating to her. He quickly jumps up and moves to help her, as though he doesn't even think she can manage to stand on her own.

"Don't touch me," she mutters, stepping out of his grasp. The boy recoils and frowns. "I'm fine."

"I was just going to help you-"

"You never help me."

Rachel heaves herself up onto the table and stares at the brown carpet. Everywhere in this wing of the school is covered in the same, brown carpet tiles. It's beyond her as to why anyone would have picked them out. She wants to bring her knees up to her chest and curl up so that she doesn't have to think about anything, but she's already fixed her skirt once.

"What are you talking about?" Jesse asks. He moves to stand directly in front of her and tries to prompt her with a shrug. "Well?"

"You told on me," she says bitterly. "I don't know why I ever thought I could trust you."

"Hey- don't blame this on me! I didn't _want_ to tell on you, but you've been gone for over an hour, Rach, and you didn't pick up Shelby's phone calls, and you didn't reply to my texts. I thought she was about to report you as a missing person."

"So you told on me."

"What else was I supposed to do?"

"You could have, for once in your life, minded your own business," Rachel snaps. She finally lifts her gaze to meet Jesse's eyes and finds herself evenly matched in the glaring department. "But I should have known that that's too hard for you to do."

"You're the one who came to me wanting the key!"

"Because I just wanted some space! I wanted one, tiny bit of space and you couldn't even give me that. You had to run off and tell Shelby, and now she's probably yelling at Noah and I'm not going to get to see him again."

Jesse sneers at her and shakes his head. "You're crazy," he says. "You're actually crazy. I didn't do anything wrong, Rachel, but think whatever the hell you want to think. Just never ask me for help again."

"Don't worry, I won't."

"Good!"

"Fine!"

The silence that follows is broken only by two sets of laboured breaths and some low tones drifting out of the office. Rachel realises that Shelby must have shut the door behind her.

_Figures_.

She tries to peer in through the window, but Noah had already pulled the blinds shut when they hurried in there earlier. She was floating, and they were just Noah and Rachel, and then everything had been ruined. Unbidden, her heart starts to pound and her glare finds Jesse again.

"What?" he asks when he notices her staring.

"Do you take pleasure in ruining my life?"

"Excuse me?"

"No, seriously," Rachel snarls, nodding to herself. "It's like you get some kind of satisfaction from it all. Do you enjoy it? Does it make you feel good about yourself to go suck up to Shelby and destroy anything good I have?"

"I honestly don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't," she scoffs. "Because the only time you care about what I have to say is when you can start meddling in things and making everything worse."

"I haven't _meddled_," Jesse says, folding his arms. "And, trust me, Rachel, you really don't need any help in ruining your life. You seem to do a pretty good job of that all by yourself."

"_What_?" Before she knows what she's doing, she's on her feet. "_What_ did you just say to me?"

"I said that you don't need my help in fucking things up," he retorts. "You've had some pretty crappy things happen to you, yeah. But you also really have a special skill in ruining everything good that comes near you. You didn't see Shelby earlier - she was _so_ worried about you, and you just don't get it."

"Get what?"

"How special that is! Y-you know what I would give to have a parent who cared about me like that? You're lucky, Rachel, and for whatever reason, you're just ignoring that."

"_Lucky_?" she repeats, the word burning at her mouth like acid. "Jesse, I'm not lucky. You want to talk about luck? Let's start with you, shall we? You're the one who still has two parents and a big fancy car and a big fancy house!"

Jesse blanches. "You don't get it," he says again. This time, his voice is low, but cutting. It pierces into Rachel's skin and the hot anger pulsating around her only seems to grow. "I thought you could understand it, but you can't. You don't understand or care about anything that doesn't revolve around you because you're the most selfish person I've ever met."

'_Did you really have to be this selfish, Rachel? Now look what you've done.'_

She doesn't even realise that she's lifted her arm to hit him until there's a strong hand engulfing her own.

"Don't," Noah's voice whispers in her ear.

Shakily, she turns, looks up into his dark eyes, and flings herself into his chest. Somewhere behind her, she's vaguely aware of her mother calling Jesse away and asking him what the hell is going on. Blocking that out as much as possible, she just lets Noah hold her.

"I can't do this," she whispers against his body. "I can't, Noah. It's too much."

"What is?"

"Everything."

He draws back with a frown. "What do you mean, babe? What's going on?"

Rachel shakes her head hopelessly. She can't explain, and wouldn't want to even if she could figure out how. All she really wants to do is bury herself into him. When she moves to do so, however, she's stopped by his hands on her upper arms.

"Rach, if something was up with you, you'd tell me, right?" he asks. From the twitch in his lip or maybe from the slight flush on his cheeks, she can tell the question isn't hypothetical. Immediately, she looks over her shoulder at her mother, who's still engrossed in conversation with Jesse. "You'd let me help you?"

"W-what?" she forces out nonchalantly. "You know everything that's going on with me, Noah."

She's heard more convincing acting from kindergarteners.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Okay, babe," he sighs, leaning forward to kiss her gently. "He probably deserves it, but don't beat that guy up. If you need me to, I will."

"I don't," she says quickly. She's almost certain he's joking, but she doesn't want to take any risks, no matter how pissed she might be at Jesse right now. "Sorry."

"It's fine," he shrugs. "But that's not your job - it's mine. The chick's job is just to look hot."

"Noah," she groans. "Don't be misogynistic."

"There you are," he grins. "I love it when you use all those big words I don't understand." He finally coaxes a smile out of her. "Look, babe, I still don't trust your mom completely, but even I can tell that she cares about you. Let her help you, okay?"

"Noah-"

"Okay?"

"Okay," she relents, to please him if nothing else.

"Thanks." He kisses her again and then hugs her tightly. "You're grounded next weekend, by the way, but she said we can do something the weekend after that?"

"She did?" Rachel frowns. Again, she looks back at Shelby and this time finds the woman already patiently watching her. She doesn't even look too annoyed that they were just kissing.

"Yeah," he continues. "So I'll see you so soon, I promise."

"Okay," she says, tearing her gaze away from her mother and nodding at him. "I'll see you soon."

000

Shelby feels like she's trying to cross a river. The water's gushing relentlessly and the bank she started from is so far behind her that she has no choice but to keep going. The stepping stones guiding her way are slick and treacherous, and they rise up one after the other with no discernible pattern. They have to be taking her to the other side - there's no alternative, - but it's like with each step she risks falling into the river and being swept away by the pounding current.

Step number one had been to extract her daughter from the office. She wasn't expecting Rachel to hop, skip and jump out of there eagerly, but she also hadn't anticipated such a visceral reaction. So, she'd swallowed up everything in her that wanted to grab her daughter by the shoulders, shake her and then insert a microchip somewhere in her so that she'll always know where she is.

Talking to Noah was insightful in a way that doesn't really help her. He's a teenaged boy: he gets his exercise hauling his inflated ego around and he presumes that he knows what's best for her daughter like she, as a mother, could never understand. But he seems to care, and he'd appeared genuinely perturbed by the idea that Rachel could be keeping something from him. He hadn't offered any elucidation on the matter, though.

She makes Jesse and Rachel walk on either side of her to the car, but can feel them both glaring daggers at each other. When she drops Jesse off at home, it's under the promise that he'll call her if anything gets worse with his family.

In return, she receives a muttered, "You do know I have friends my own age too, right?"

"The guest room is always there for you, Jess," she replies. He smiles gratefully, nods, and walks over to key in the code for the big gates outside his house. Once he's in, Shelby drives away.

Rachel stares out of the passenger seat window with a scowl that must be engaging every muscle in her face.

As Shelby's straightening up the car in the driveway, she receives a text. In the time it takes her to read it and begin a reply, Rachel has left the car and, Shelby imagines, is already storming up to her room.

**iMessage**

**Saturday, 20th October**

**5:48 p.m.**

**_Jesse: _**_Sorry. I didn't want to make the demon even more mad at me :S I love you_

**_Jesse_**_: update- Elliot's high. Dad's pissed. Mom's drunk. Wish me luck?_

**_Shelby_**_: Don't call my child a demon please._

**_Shelby_**_: Grab some food, go upstairs, lock your door._

**_Shelby_**_: Do you want me to come and get you?_

**_Shelby_**_: I love you too_

**_6:30 p.m._**

**_Jesse_**_: I made a sandwich. I'm fine_

**_Jesse: _**_thanks for caring about me_

**_Shelby: _**_Always, Jess. I'm about to go into a meeting, but Luke will be around if you need to call him._

**_Jesse: _**_a meeting? is that what we're calling therapy these days?_

It's the last thing she sees before she steps into Marty's office, and the reason behind the smirk on her face. When the man sees this, and assumes it's because she's in a good, happy, and productive space, she lets out a loud cackle.

"Not at all," she laughs. "In fact, it's quite literally the opposite and I do think I might combust at any moment. I hope you had your smoke detectors tested recently."

"We comply with the building regulations."

"Yeah? That's good," she says. One hand slinks behind her to extract her favourite cushion. "Thanks for agreeing to see me so late on a weekend."

"There's no other way I'd rather spend my Saturday evening."

"Why do I get the feeling you're just saying that?" Shelby pouts. When she's simply met with a raised eyebrow, she shrugs and sucks in a deep breath. "So, in your professional opinion, what's the best way to force a secret out of someone? You know, assuming waterboarding and the like are out of the picture."

0

Marty, Shelby concludes, after her session finishes and she's driving home, is boring. He didn't want to talk about the significance of Noah's mohawk, or Jesse's family life. He obliged her for a few minutes before steering the conversation back to mundane things like her eating habits of the week and her levels of anxiety.

Luke proves to be a far better listener. He only interrupts her theory that Noah is very similar to a young Sean three times as they're lying in bed that night. When she insists that she's not just projecting - and shoots him a glare, - he returns to simple punctuations of 'Right' and 'Yes, babe'.

He does, however, make the point that it would probably be beneficial for her to talk to Rachel about 'Operation Office Make-out Session' sooner rather than later. As she's laying down to sleep, Shelby assures him that she'll do it the following day.

But, for much of Sunday, Rachel takes to avoiding her mother. She works out in the basement early, completes her homework in Luke's office and then retreats to her bedroom to watch some TV on her new laptop. Despite the protests of innocence Shelby makes to Luke in the late afternoon, she's been acting similarly. It's not that she doesn't want to talk to Rachel - she _really, really_ does - but she just doesn't know how. Her feeble attempts at discipline in her office had been enough to almost induce a panic attack. Plus, there's the whole 'fourteen-year-old daughter engaged in entirely inappropriate activities on school grounds' aspect of things.

"Do it after we eat," Luke tells her firmly, glancing at her over his shoulder from where he's stirring a pot of rice on the stove.

Shelby slumps her bodyweight forwards onto the counter. She's been relegated from helping him cook and so, instead, is watching from the barstool.

"I'm being serious," he continues. "You're both creeping around each other and all that's going to do is exacerbate residual tensions."

She glares at the back of his head, but eventually sighs. "No, I know."

"So just do it, get it over with and then you can both move on."

"Somehow I don't think it's going to be that simple," she mutters and takes a sip from her wine glass.

Luke takes the spoon from the pot, tapping it on the rim a couple of times to shake off the excess water, before laying it down and walking over to her.

"Hey," he says, waiting until she meets his eyes to continue. "You've got this. Just be firm, be fair, and let her know how much you love her."

"I've been trying to do that. She just doesn't believe me!" she argues. Luke's pointed look halts the construction of her defensive walls. "Sorry. But you _know_ I've been trying. And I got an email from my lawyer today saying that if Linda and I both go to the courthouse on Wednesday afternoon, we can get all of the paperwork signed and I'll officially have custody."

"Why are you making that sound like a bad thing?"

Shelby frowns. Under the counter, her fingernails begin to rake over her palms. "I- I don't know." The swirling thoughts inside her all grow louder in a declaration that this is a lie. "I don't know whether I can do this - whether I _should_ be doing this."

"Shelbs-"

"No, I know," she mutters quickly, shaking her head. "I know. What kind of a mother am I for thinking that? But… Well, what kind of a mother am I at all, Luke? I don't… I asked her to do _one_ _thing_. I asked her to stay out in the foyer and she didn't. She clearly knows that I have no idea what I'm doing, and that I'm just fucking everything up an-"

"Woah woah woah," he cuts her off. He leans across the island and lays his hands out for her to grasp. "You are not fucking this up. You're both trying to adjust to a really difficult situation. And, clearly, yeah, there's something going on with her that she's not ready to talk about yet, but you'll get there."

"I don't know."

"Look," he starts, running his thumbs over the backs of her hands, "you want Rachel to trust you and open up to you, right?"

"Right."

"So maybe that has to be a two-way street? Maybe you have to be willing to take that first step?"

She tilts her head at him. "You really are the only person who's smarter than me that I like."

"I'll take it," he grins, squeezing her hands one last time before returning to his cooking.

Shelby spends the majority of dinner warring an internal battle. Her apprehensiveness about the whole situation isn't doing her appetite much good, which reminds her that it's crazy that she's being trusted to take care of another person when she can barely take care of herself, which brings her back to her point of failing Rachel as a mother, which is, of course, the root of her anxiety.

But she also knows that Luke, with infuriating reliability, is right. If she keeps spinning around in circles, the needle of her compass won't settle, and then she'll never figure out which direction she's supposed to be going in.

So, once she's forced her food down, she stands from her stool and flashes Rachel a smile.

"Will you help me with the dishes, honey?"

The tuneless clanging of cutlery entering the dishwasher forms the only reprieve from an otherwise awkward silence. This isn't her; she's never been a particularly self-conscious person, but she just doesn't know how to shake off the tension that envelopes her and her daughter at every turn.

_Open up._

That's what Luke had suggested. Anywhere has to be a better starting point than nowhere, and so she makes an attempt in the best way she knows how - music. As Rachel stacks their glasses in the dishwasher, she pulls her phone out of her back pocket, connects it to the kitchen speaker and sets her 'Chores Can Be Fun' playlist to go.

Rachel looks up as Beyoncé's voice fills the room. Shelby smiles weakly back at her.

"I always like to have music playing," she says as she begins to wipe down the countertops. "I'll have to get you linked on my account - I really do like to think I have a playlist for every situation."

Rachel peers at her somewhat curiously before nodding. "I think I'd like that." A pause follows in which the girl taps out the beat of the song with her fingertips on her thigh. "I- I'm on Noah's account at the moment, but it means we can't listen at the same time so…"

"So I'll definitely get you put on mine," Shelby tells her. She jerks her head towards the sink. "I wash, you dry?"

Met with a nod, she pulls on the gloves and begins to run the water. And then she's at a crossroads, almost entirely unsure of which direction to pull the two of them in. Still, she reminds herself, at this point, any direction is moving forwards.

"So," she starts carefully, "tell me about Noah."

Next to her, she's sure Rachel flinches. "What about him?"

Shelby shrugs in her best, casual manner. "What's he like? How did you guys meet?"

"Oh," Rachel says, noticeably relaxing a little. She sends her mother another tentative look as if just to check this isn't a trick question. When Shelby smiles back reassuringly, she tentatively begins to explain their relationship.

For a girl who seemed to have no problems straddling the boy's lap yesterday, Shelby can't help but to think that her embarrassment now is somewhat misplaced. But she can also remember what it's like to be young and exploring this whole new world of relationships. The evidence of that is drying a spatula next to her.

"So you managed to persuade the football star to join a glee club?" she smirks a few minutes later. "That's pretty good going, Rach."

"It did help our image a little," Rachel tells her. "But it wasn't exactly an easy sell. Noah was really against it at first, but he actually has a very nice voice. He's not… Well, he could benefit from a bit more training - I'd like to work on him reaching high B more consistently, - but at least he made it so it wasn't social suicide to sign up."

"Right," Shelby says, smiling at her daughter's technical assessment. "I can understand that. When I first started VA, it was much harder to attract guys than girls."

"What changed?"

Shelby shoots her an incredulous look. "Oh, come _on_. You saw what we managed to pull off yesterday! I just had to let things take their course…" She trails off as Rachel ducks her head, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. It's like a fork in the road. "Rach?"

"I-I'm sorry," she mutters quickly. She swallows hard and takes a deep breath before meeting her mother's eyes again. "About yesterday. I- I know I shouldn't have spoken to you like that in the office. I know we shouldn't have even gone in there, but I… I don't know- I was just… Please don't be mad at me. Not too mad. I-I'm sorry."

Shelby quickly drains the sink, pulls off her gloves and turns to hug her daughter tightly. A still damp frying pan gets caught between them, but she ignores it. More than anything else in the world, she hates the look Rachel gets in her eyes when she thinks she's going to be mad at her.

As she draws back, she takes the pan and towel out of Rachel's hands and lays them on the draining rack. Then, she gently grasps Rachel's chin in one hand and forces the girl to look up at her.

"I'm not mad, Rachel, I promise," she says. "I was… Well, I wasn't happy yesterday, but I was more worried than anything."

"I-I'm sorry."

"I know," she sighs. "And I do understand, honey. You missed Noah and you wanted to see him somewhere you thought you wouldn't be interrupted, right?" Rachel nods softly, though she looks a little confused. "Right, and I get that, but the way you went about it wasn't okay."

When Rachel's lip trembles like she's about to burst into tears, Shelby puts an arm around her shoulder and leads her over to the dining table. Once they're sat opposite each other, she reaches out to take her daughter's hand in her own.

"I'm really not trying to make you upset, Rach, but we do need to talk about it."

It's a decisive leap forward, but that's what all of this was supposed to be about, right?

"I'm sorry," Rachel says again. She begins to trace her finger through the grooves in the wood. "I didn't think that…"

"That I'd find out?" Shelby guesses. Rachel blushes and nods. "Well it might have been in your best interest to answer your phone, then, hm?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"I need to know where you are, Rachel," Shelby says firmly. She hears herself falling into her patented 'teacher voice', but it doesn't seem totally inappropriate, so she runs with it. "I was so worried when I realised you weren't where I'd asked you to be. And then you weren't answering your phone so I had no way of knowing whether or not you were safe and okay. I want to be able to trust you and give you space and privacy where that's appropriate, but I need to be able to get in touch with you, okay?"

"Okay," Rachel whispers.

"Okay," Shelby repeats. She takes a deep breath; it's time to stand her ground. "So, because you broke that trust yesterday, next weekend you're going to be grounded. You can keep your phone, but where I go, you go. Got it?"

"Got it," Rachel nods.

"Good." Shelby sits back in her seat, nodding to herself. That's one part mostly handled, and she allows her a breath to orient herself before moving on. "Now, I need to talk to you about-"

"Noah?" Rachel interrupts, eyes wide with panic. "Please, I- I know it was bad, but please let me see him again. I'll be good, I promise."

"Hey, no," Shelby says, shaking her head. There's something deeply unsettling about her daughter's protestations. "No, that's not what I was going to say at all, Rach. Why…?"

"Oh," the girl squeaks out. She lowers her gaze back towards the table, cheeks flushing. "I'm sorry. I just thought… Because you walked in and you saw that and… But he did say that you said…"

Shelby frowns as she tries to make sense of the fragmented speech - they're still not walking the same path.

"Listen to me," she says eventually. "Do I think you're too young to be in a serious relationship? Yes. Will we be having more conversations about this? For sure. But, honey, I can tell that he's very important to you, and from talking to him, it seems like he feels the same way. I'm not going to force you to cut out someone like that from your life."

"B-but you were going to pull me away."

"What?" she asks, trying to replay the scene she'd walked in on. "Oh - when I held your arm?" Rachel's tiny wince provides her an answer, and a huge wave of guilt that sloshes over her and throws her backwards. "Rachel, God… I'm _so_ sorry. Did I _hurt_ you?"

"No, but…"

"But what?"

"Never mind."

"Rachel," Shelby sighs. She can't come face to face with another bolted door. Unless this _is_ the bolted door, but then surely Noah would have said something? "Please can you tell me why that upset you? I just want to help."

"I…" Rachel bows her head again. "Grandma did that when she found me and Noah once. But then it _did_ hurt and she was so mad. I'm sorry, I just… I didn't want you to see me like that."

Shelby's lips are tightly pressed together, every muscle in her body clenched to prevent her from jumping up, getting into her car and driving over to that woman's house to give her a taste of her own medicine. Instead, she squeezes Rachel's hand tightly.

"I'm so sorry that she did that, Rach," she says. "I love you so much and I can promise you that, no matter what I may ever find you doing, I will never hurt you. As for being mad at you, I was a little yesterday. Not necessarily because of Noah, but more so because of how concerned I was. But that's why I wanted us to just leave, go home so we could both calm down, and then talk about things. I'm sorry that me holding you like, in that situation, made you feel so uncomfortable."

"It's okay, I'm sorry," Rachel whispers. "I'm being stupid."

"No, you're not," Shelby tells her firmly. "You're not at all and I'm sorry. Now, what I actually wanted to speak to you about is that your custody papers are ready to be signed this week."

"Oh."

"Yes, so I'll do that on Wednesday, and then next weekend we can go and get the rest of your things. I'll do that by myself, if you'd rather… I don't want to make you go back in there if you're not comfortable."

"No, it's okay," Rachel says. She sends her mother a tiny smile. "But thank you."

"It's nothing," Shelby replies. "You tell me if you change your mind on that, okay?"

"Okay. So I… I'm really going to stay here?"

"Yeah," Shelby says, with the most conviction she's felt in a long time. "You're really staying here." Her heart glows at Rachel's tiny smile, but she can't wipe the confusion from her own face. "Rachel? You know that I would never be mad at you for what happened with your grandma, right?"

"What?" Rachel frowns. "No, I… I know."

"Okay, good," Shelby says, though there are alarm bells ringing in her mind. She's uncovered something, it's just not the _something_ Rachel's trying to keep hidden.

000

For Shelby, the next week is early morning coffees and excessive concealer to hide the bags under her eyes. It's running out the house at the very last minute because Rachel spends breakfasts texting so much that she almost forgets her food is right there. It's jokes that maybe she should only let the girl have the device when she's out of her sight. It's Rachel eventually coming to pout and roll her eyes at these comments.

She breaks up one bickering match between her and Jesse when they're trying to decide on a song to sing for the booster club benefit dinner. Rachel insists 'What Is This Feeling' is the only one which will capture her current sentiment towards the boy. Jesse asks whether Shelby's sure he can't just do a solo. She signs two sets of legal documents: one to obtain full custody, and one to reinstate her parental rights. She fields three drunk phone calls from Cassie in the middle of the night and gets Luke to promise that he'll go and check on her when he's in Columbus at the weekend.

She spends twenty-four hours a day sick with worry for her daughter.

Rachel passes the week trying to negotiate a treaty between her heart and gut. The tightrope nightmare haunts her every night and, while a part of her loves the attention Shelby is showering upon her, she's becoming acutely aware that every hour she spends enjoying her mother's company is only going to make the fallout that much worse. She's no longer simply afraid that her mother will find her out and hate her. Now, she's also concerned with how broken she's going to be when that happens. She admonishes herself for their growing closeness, but can't help leaning into it all the same.

On Saturday, it takes them less than an hour to deconstruct the sanctum Rachel had built for herself in her bedroom at Linda's house. Most of the clothes she actually wears are already at Shelby's and everything else she wants to keep fits into the large suitcase. She smuggles her penguin into the bottom of the case when Shelby's back is turned. It's too embarrassing to have out in the open. They take down the few pictures she'd tacked onto the walls, and Shelby tells her not to worry about the slight marks they leave behind. By the time they finish packing, they're the only real evidence that Rachel was ever even there.

"You ready to go?" Shelby asks, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Rachel finds herself melting into the touch and nods.

She casts a final, lingering look around the room, wishing that she could leave behind everything it represents as easily as she can the mounting putty on the walls, and follows her mother down the stairs.

Her grandmother is sat in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee and staring blankly ahead. She gets slowly to her feet as they approach.

"Are you packed?" she asks.

Rachel feels Shelby tightening her grip on her. "Yes," the woman replies coolly. "We're all ready to go."

A beat passes. Rachel looks warily between her mother and grandmother, both of whom are eyeing the other with narrowed eyes. She realises it's probably up to her to put an end to the eerie silence.

"Um, I guess I'll see you soon, Grandma," she says, forcing a smile. "Thank you for -" _Everything? Nothing? Providing me with a bed? _"- being there for me over the last couple of years."

Linda shifts to look down at her. Rachel's sure she can spot a knowing expression in the woman's eyes, but maybe that's just her head making things up again. It's been doing that a lot recently.

"Shelby, why don't you take Rachel's case out to the car so that we can say goodbye properly?"

Rachel hears her mother scoff at the instruction, but she turns and gives her a small nod. Shelby raises an eyebrow back at her, just to check, so she nods again. She needs to hear what her grandmother has to say.

"Okay, I'll meet you in the car, Rach," Shelby says reluctantly. "Don't be too long - we still need to go to your doctor to pick up your records."

"I'll be right there," Rachel assures her.

When the front door swings shut, she looks back up at her grandmother. Instinctively, she's wrapped her arms around herself, as if she can somehow control the feeling in her stomach through this action.

Linda eyes her carefully. "Things are okay at Shelby's?" she asks after a moment. "She's coping with you?"

It's a dig wrapped in scraps of concern, but Rachel's not here to argue.

"Yes. We're getting along well." It's not _totally _a lie.

"That's good," Linda replies. "And I supposed you haven't told her?"

Rachel's stomach clenches and churns. In opposition, or maybe alliance, her heart quickens its thumping. "N-no, ma'am," she whispers.

"Good," the older woman says, nodding. "I… I know we didn't always see eye to eye, Rachel, but you have to understand that it changes things. I do love you, I do want what's best for you, but it's still always there."

Rachel nods - she really knows that all too well - and bites down hard on her lip to stop it trembling. She can't cry because then her cheeks will flush and Shelby will notice and then she'll ask questions and she'll look at her with that face of _concern_ and she's sure she'll fall apart. She needs to exert some self-control to stop herself from tumbling through that chain of events.

"I know," she eventually says. "I'm sorry."

Linda pats her on the shoulder in a touch filled with the awkwardness of lingering blame. "Take care of yourself, Rachel."

0

Rachel turns down the offer of eating lunch out - she can't even begin to think about food when her stomach already feels like it's digesting itself. She tries to redirect her mind, allowing it glimpses of escape from its own prison. Discussions of potential sectionals' setlists, making salads for lunch, eating them while watching a movie in the living room. She goes through the motions and manages to put up a pretty good front for her mother, but she feels as though she's on autopilot.

She's reminding herself to pay attention to the words coming from the TV when a loud snort from next to her catches her attention.

"What?" she asks with a frown through Shelby's loud laughter. The woman is reading through her medical records they picked up from her doctor on the way home. Nothing about that seems overtly comedic.

"Wait," Shelby wheezes, trying to catch her breath and wiping under her eyes. "God, Rachel, I love you."

"_What_?" Rachel repeats, this time tinged with a definite whine.

"Okay," Shelby starts, "this is from when you were six." She clears her throat and holds the paper up. "'Rachel presented in the ER today with 10/10 severe pain in her left arm. She was accompanied by her father who stated that the injury occurred when Rachel fell off the table she was dancing on. Given ice and analgesia at home, but Rachel had been crying for thirty minutes. Query: sprain, query: closed fracture. When Rachel was taken for X-ray, she had to be reminded which arm was injured and attempted to show the radiographer the dance she had been practicing. Discharged with instructions to ice and rest should pain return.'"

By the time Shelby's finished reading, the woman is laughing again while Rachel's folded her arms over her chest and is scowling.

"It's not funny!" she protests.

"Rach, you danced off a table, cried and then couldn't even remember which arm it was."

"So my pain is funny to you?"

"Doesn't sound like you were in that much pain by the end," Shelby smirks.

Rachel's mouth contorts into a little 'o'. "It says right there that they drugged me up! You're _so_ mean."

"And it sounds like you've always been _so_ dramatic," Shelby says, tapping her nose. Her grin fades a little as she sits back. "I wish I could have seen it."

The words hang in the air, heavy with guilt. When Rachel looks into her mother's eyes, she can almost see the distant memories swimming behind them. It shouldn't, but it comforts her, in a way. She's reminded that she's not the only one hauling around the mistakes of her past.

"Shelby," she says, "do you have a chessboard?"

* * *

_**A/N- Okay so this chapter was, you guessed it, getting too long. So I split it :S. Even though it was already supposed to be a two-parter. A three-parter? Who knows? I'll post the (nearly complete, but very self-indulgent) second half once I get to 250 reviews. **_

_**Just kidding... **_

_**Unless...**_

_**As always, everyone's support for this story really does mean the world to me. Hope you're all staying safe! -xo**_


	17. Anybody Have a Map?- Part II

_**A/N- I actually died at the support on the last chapter lol I sweaaaar I was kidding and sorry this took me a little longer than anticipated to get out. Was busy turning myself into a physical manifestation of 'the lakes' by Taylor Swift. A couple of things: answers are coming soon, I promise; S and J have a purely familial ily relationship lmao; Spawn, you make me cackle every time. **_

_**Don't even come for me bc I know bits of this are so self-indulgent but I listened to folklore too much and the flashback happened. This is pretty long, but honestly to me has interlude vibes and I'll probably edit it at some point. **_

_**Slight t/w for mentions of substance abuse (but only mentions) and grief heavy. Yikes... Enjoy!**_

* * *

Rachel rests her chin on the edge of the table, narrowing her eyes in focus. For once, there's barely a thought in her head besides calculating which piece needs to move where next. She's working on traversing one pawn across the board in order to reclaim her fallen rook, and subtly positioning herself for an attack on her mother's queen. She's pretty certain the woman hasn't noticed this yet, though.

Her mother isn't necessarily a _bad_ player, but it's not hard for Rachel to believe her when she said she hadn't played for years. She hasn't herself either, of course, but the second she'd held the black pieces in her hands, fingers tracing over the wooden carvings, she'd immediately felt at home.

And that, with its warmth and comfort and security, is something she's been missing for a while.

In the end, she moves a knight gracefully over Shelby's bishop. It's a hesitant tactic, meant to lure her mother's more valuable pieces out into the open through reckless temptation. Rachel would never be so careless with her own queen.

Her skills of strategy have always been more attuned to the attack than the defence, so she's thriving as she navigates the movements of each piece across the board. Her willing army of inky soldiers rarely falter; they're aloof, disconnected, ruthless. Rachel's in control, yes, but sometimes she feels as though the pieces call out to her, telling her where they belong.

Shelby frowns down at the board. "Okay, I literally have no idea what you're doing, which means," she picks up a piece at random and shuffles it by one square, "I don't know what I'm meant to do, either."

"I don't think you're supposed to admit that," Rachel tells her as she makes her next move, claiming another pawn with a bishop that's now left vulnerable to attack. She bites back a smug smile when Shelby's eyes widen at this.

_Take the bait_.

Four moves later, she successfully takes Shelby's queen. She laughs haughtily as she knocks it over with a lowly pawn and Shelby rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, alright," she grumbles. "Very good."

"Thanks," Rachel grins. "I thought so, too."

Shelby reaches to make her next move. "You said you played a lot with your dads?"

"Yeah," Rachel nods. She doesn't allow herself to focus on that fact. Her eyes flick across the board; Shelby has way fewer pieces than her remaining. She won't allow herself to get _too_ cocky yet, but maybe if she just-

"Oh, _come on_!" the woman groans as her last bishop becomes Rachel's latest victim.

Rachel beams; she's _really_ missed this.

"You can't outrun me forever," she quips a few minutes later when Shelby moves her king a square to the left yet again.

"I can try."

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Bring it," she smirks.

"Sorry," Shelby gasps. "Is my pain funny to you?"

"Nope, just your dramatics."

Shelby pulls a face of mock-outrage, which Rachel returns with a raised eyebrow.

When she doesn't think about anything too much, it's easy to talk to her mother. The woman matches her in wit and sharpness and extensive knowledge of musical theatre history. But she can't turn off the thoughts that spiral from that. They're similar. In good ways and bad ways, they're alike. And maybe… Maybe that's not always something she has to hide from - maybe she can use that.

"Shelby?"

"Yeah, babe?" Shelby replies, eyes still fixed on the board.

"Um… How did you do it? After everything happened, how did you-" She's cut off by the sound of a ringtone coming from across the kitchen. They both turn to look at Shelby's phone sitting on the kitchen island.

"Sorry, honey." Shelby stands up from the table and puts a finger up. "One second, hold that thought."

Rachel slumps a little as she turns back to the board. A lazy finger pushes her queen into position and then she lets her gaze fall into the checked pattern.

"Hi, Anna," Shelby voice drifts over from the other side of the kitchen. "Yeah, no, we're fine. What's up?… Oh, crap - is he okay?… Right, yeah… No, don't be stupid. Of course she can come… No, honestly, Rachel and I are just having a lazy afternoon at home… Anna, it's fine, I promise… Okay, yeah… See you soon, bye."

Rachel spins around in her chair when she hears her mother hang up, and shoots her a questioning look.

"Sorry," Shelby says, replacing the phone on the counter. "That was Anna, Luke's sister-in-law. Her son hurt his arm at the park and the nanny's taken him to the hospital. She wanted to see whether she could bring her daughter over here while she goes to be with him in the ER." She grimaces. "Kind of feel like we might have manifested that accident by reading that story earlier, don't you think?"

"Oh, yeah. Sure."

Shelby walks back towards her, frowning. "Is that okay, Rach? It would just be a lot easier for her if we can watch Maya here for a while."

"That's fine," Rachel replies.

And it _is_. Fundamentally, she knows it is, so she's not sure why it's like the room has suddenly drained of colour. It's as monochrome as the chess board.

"Okay, thank you," Shelby says gratefully. "She's a lot of fun - I think you'll really like her."

And Rachel just nods back, because asking, '_How do _you _know what I'll think?'_ seems rude and unprovoked. But she can't think of anything better to say. The projection of herself is flickering; everything's become too much like a burned out reel of an old movie.

"Anyway - sorry, babe," Shelby continues as she slides back into her seat. "What were you saying?"

"Oh, nothing. I… I think I'm going to go up to my room for a while." She stands and moves to walk out of the room so that she can go and try to sort her head out.

"What about our game?" Shelby calls after her. The concern and despondency lacing her voice echoes through each word.

"Oh." Rachel stops and turns back to face her mother. "Checkmate."

0

A change into sweats, laying on her bed for a while, and even a brief text exchange with Noah before he left to go to the gym, haven't done anything to help settle her unease. She can't even pinpoint the cause of it and, now the chess game is over, every other horrible thought is making up for lost time in her head, too. She can't work out why she can't apply the same drive to herself. Or why chess pieces can tell her where they belong, but her own head and heart can't work it out.

She curls up on her side under her blankets and begins to hum random tunes to block it all out. She's resorted to 'Twinkle twinkle little star' by the time the doorbell rings. It takes only a few moments for voices to drift up the stairs and for curiosity to get the better of her. Quietly, she slips out of her bedroom and creeps along the hallway until she's got a view of the front door through the bannister railing. She kneels down and watches.

There's a woman with dark auburn hair standing on the doorstep, who Rachel assumes must be Anna. She's shaking her head as she exchanges some words with Shelby about a tragic fall from grace on the monkey-bars, and a nanny service she's _never_ using again.

Noah had always stood under Rachel when she tried to use them, she remembers, promising that he'd catch her before she could fall.

Suddenly, there's a loud cry of, "Aunt Shelby!" as a small girl hurtles through the door and wraps her arms tightly around Shelby's waist.

From behind the bars of the bannister, Rachel swallows the lump in her throat. It gets stuck on the choking feeling of being out of place. A black pawn was set up on the wrong side of the board. Or it got dumped there halfway through a game, a tainting figure of grief and gloom.

"Hey, bug," Shelby laughs, squeezing the girl back. "I missed you. Have you got bigger since the last time I saw you? What's your mom been feeding you?"

"Nothing!" the girl says loudly, shaking her head and throwing a glare over her shoulder at her mother. "I didn't even have lunch after dance class because Dexter broke his arm!"

"We don't know for sure that it's broken yet, Maya," Anna reminds her. "And I'm sure Aunt Shelby can find something to feed you before you waste away."

"I'm _so_ hungry," Maya says, looking back up at Shelby with widened eyes.

"I'll think about feeding you if you're good," the woman says wryly and the girl lets out a long whine. "Kidding, bug. Why don't you go put your bag in the end bedroom and then we'll see what we can make you?"

"'Kay!"

"_Crap_," Rachel hisses to herself. She tries to clamber back to her feet, but, by the time she does so, she's already face-to-face with the younger girl. For a moment, they both size the other up.

"Hi," Maya says finally, though it's loaded with suspicion. "Who are you?"

"Uh…I…" Rachel flickers and goes blank. All she can focus on is the tingling feeling in her hands from where they were pressed into the carpet.

"I'm _Maya,_" the girl says, emphasising her name as if to demonstrate what she's after. Rachel apparently falters for another moment too long because she ultimately shrugs, hikes her pink backpack up on her shoulder and scuttles off down the hallway.

Rachel shakes her head after her; she really doesn't know what's wrong with her. Maybe it's the fact that Maya, with her dark hair, tan skin, and big brown eyes, makes her feel like she's looking into a mirror and seeing her younger self. Maybe it's that all of this is a reminder that Shelby's had a whole life - a whole _family_ \- outside of her.

Either way, she thinks she needs to go back to bed for a while. Uninterrupted, fulfilling sleep has been evading her for weeks now, and she can feel that taking its toll in the constant, dull ache at the back of her head and her tired eyes.

Maya, however, has other plans. Before Rachel can make it back through the door of her bedroom, the little girl has grabbed a hold of her hand and is pulling her along the hallway and down the stairs.

"Aunt Shelby!" she shouts again as she lets go of Rachel and jumps the last few steps. She ignores the ensuing warnings to be careful and turns to point at Rachel. "She was upstairs and she doesn't know her name."

Rachel feels her cheeks burn scarlet when her mother and Anna both turn to look at her quizzically. "Sorry, I…"

Shelby beckons her over with a smile and places her hands on her shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. Rachel's caught between relaxing into the touch and wanting to hang her head in shame at how stupid she must be making both of them look right now.

"Bug," Shelby starts, "I have someone very special for you to meet."

"You know her?" Maya checks skeptically.

Shelby laughs. "Yeah, I know her. This," another squeeze of her shoulders, "is my daughter, Rachel."

"_Your daughter_?"

"Maya," Anna groans, "we talked about this, remember? I'm sorry, Shelbs."

The other woman waves her off. "It's fine. Yep, Rachel is my daughter."

"Oh," Maya frowns. She studies Rachel carefully again and, this time, the older girl forces a smile back. "Um - hi!" she says eventually, before quickly throwing herself at Rachel and giving her a tight hug. When she draws back, she looks sheepishly around, says a quick goodbye to her mother and then runs off into the living room.

Rachel can only muster up a rather bewildered expression. "What just…?"

"That's just Maya," Anna laughs, rolling her eyes. "Hi, sorry. I'm Anna." She, too, steps forward and moves to hug Rachel. Unlike her daughter, however, she waits for an affirming nod. "I can't believe I'm finally meeting you - Luke has honestly not shut up about you."

"It's nice to meet you, too," Rachel says, hoping her voice doesn't sound too weak.

Anna's phone chimes and she quickly checks it with a frown. "Okay, sorry," she says, "I really have to run. Rachel, we'll get to know each other properly soon, I promise. Shelbs, you're a lifesaver. You have full permission to do whatever you need to do to keep her in line."

"Oh perfect - I'll lock her in the basement until Luke gets home later," Shelby winks. "I've got everything under control. You go, and give Dex a hug from me please."

"Will do," Anna replies as she steps out the door. She raises her voice to add a final, "Bye, Maya! Be good please!"

While Shelby is preoccupied with shutting the door behind her, Rachel attempts to make a hasty escape back up into her room. She only makes it up two steps before her mother places a hand on her back.

"Do you want to come and say hi properly?" she asks.

_No._

The slightly pleading look in Shelby's eyes, however, doesn't allow her to answer that. Her mother has done so much for her recently; she owes this her at least.

"Sure."

She follows Shelby into the living room, where Maya is already sprawled out on one of the couches, her eyes glued on the TV.

"What you watching, bug?" Shelby asks, resting a hand on top of the girl's dark hair.

She meets Rachel's eyes and tilts her head towards the other couch. Rachel complies and sits down on the edge of it with her hands tucked under her legs.

"_Riverdale_," Maya replies, her eyes never leaving the screen.

Shelby follows her gaze and frowns at the shirtless man on the screen. 'Inappropriate?' she mouths at Rachel, who immediately nods.

"How about we put something else on?" she suggests. "We could watch a movie, if you want?"

"Sure," Maya shrugs, clambering up off the couch and walking over to the cabinet under the TV. "I can catch up on this later."

Rachel watches as she opens it and casually flicks through the DVD selection. She'd personally only learned what that cabinet held on Thursday night.

After a quick deliberation, and some gentle prompting on Shelby's part, the opening credits of _Tangled_ soon begin to roll and Maya snuggles herself back down into the couch. Rachel's still perched on the edge of hers. Her eyes keep darting towards the door as half-baked escape plans flitter through her mind.

"What do you want for lunch, bug?" Shelby asks. "I can do mac and cheese, or a sandwich, or soup, maybe?"

Maya scrunches up her face in thought. "Has Uncle Luke left anything?"

From her standing position behind the couch, Shelby leans down to gently swat her head. "I can cook _just_ as well as Uncle Luke!"

"_Nuh-uh_."

"_Yuh-huh,_" Shelby laughs. "And no, we don't have any Uncle Luke leftovers, so it's my cooking, or nothing."

"_Okaaaay_," Maya sighs. "I think… um…. mac and cheese, then."

"Coming right up." Shelby turns to Rachel, who's been giving this easy interaction far more attention than the opening of the movie. "Rach, do you want anything else to eat? You didn't have much earlier."

"No thanks," Rachel replies, fighting against the tightness in her throat. She guesses that Shelby's only asking because it would seem rude not to, but she's not hungry anyway.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Shelby leaves to go and make the food, and the movie plays out into a room otherwise thick with semi-awkward silence. Rachel can feel Maya's eyes flickering across at her every few seconds with a scrutinising intensity. She keeps her own stare firmly on the screen and tries to force her mind to follow the story.

It's not too hard; _Tangled_ has always been one of her favourites. After one rewatch when she was maybe about eight, she'd decided that, in order to be a magical star, she was going to need blonde hair. Her dads had discovered her in the kitchen an hour or so later squeezing lemon juice into her hair like she'd seen someone on TV doing once. It had been so sticky that it had taken three full shampoos to get it all out.

A small smile tugs at her lips at the memory, but, when her eyes naturally move to look for someone to share in this moment with, she comes up empty. She leans back against the armrest and pulls her legs up to her chest.

Shelby returns a few minutes later with a bowl of steaming pasta.

"Spill any of that and you're cleaning it up yourself," she warns as she carefully hands the bowl over to Maya.

"Maybe you shouldn't be letting me eat it in here then?" the girl grins back.

"Okay," Shelby nods, sitting down next to her. "You go eat in the kitchen by yourself while Rachel and I watch this, then."

Maya pouts and makes a deliberate show of stuffing in a large mouthful. She eats silently for a few minutes but Rachel can still feel her throwing small glances across the room at her.

"Aunt Shelby?" she eventually asks.

"Yeah, bug?"

"If you're Rachel's mom, how come she wasn't here before?"

Rachel's stomach churns; she blames it on the smell of the pasta. Still, her head jerks up to look at her mother. She's looking right back, her mouth slightly agape. For a moment, they hold each other's stare, wide eyes saying everything and nothing all at once.

The clunk of Maya putting her empty bowl down on the coffee table breaks them out of the moment. Shelby shifts and clears her throat a little.

"Well," she starts cautiously, "that's a good question, bug." She pauses for a second and looks between the two girls. "You know how when you were little you used to stay with me and Uncle Luke sometimes? When Mom stayed with Daddy while he was sick?"

"And when Dexter was born," Maya tells her with a nod.

"Yeah, that's right," Shelby agrees. "And when Dexter was born. Because sometimes, bug, even though moms love their kids a lot, they can't always take care of them right then, so they get someone else to do it for a while." She swallows and meets Rachel's eyes. The girl feels a hot blush blooming on her cheeks again and immediately flicks her gaze downwards. "When Rachel was born, even though I loved her a _lot_, I couldn't take care of her all the time, so she lived with her dads who could do that."

Rachel peers up through her eyelashes at Maya, who's shifted up onto her knees. She can see the girl processing everything that Shelby's said with a thoughtful frown, but even she doesn't look as confused as Rachel feels. It all sounds so simple, so straightforward and natural, when put like that. It belies the peripheral turbulence that's plagued her life.

"You have two dads?" Maya asks after a moment.

It's not the question Rachel was expecting, and the mention of her dads in the present tense makes her heart skip a beat, but she manages a nod. "Um… Yeah."

"That's cool," Maya says. "My friend Lily has two moms…" She pauses and scrunches up her face again. "I have one mom, and I have a daddy, too, but he's in heaven."

Rachel's heart flutters again. "I'm sorry," she says.

"It's okay," the younger girl nods. "I was little so I don't remember him much. But Mom tells us stories about him, and I write him letters sometimes and I know that he's always here." She uses her index finger to point to her chest. It lands on the right-hand side, but Rachel knows what she means.

Her own heart aches for her dads all the time, and yet she's sure it's also the source of their guidance. It's from here that their voices speak to her, trying in vain to drown at the louder ones constantly screaming in her head.

"Bug, why don't you take your plate into the kitchen really quick?" Shelby says. Her eyes dart uneasily over to Rachel. "I'll come help you clean it in a minute."

The girl shrugs, picks up her plate and leaves the room. Once she's gone, Rachel feels her mother's gaze boring into her. After a moment of silence, Shelby stands and moves to sit beside her. Rachel feels her weight sink into the couch and a hand being laid on her shoulder, but all she can really focus on is the physicality of her heart in her chest. It's almost as if she can see it straining against the confines of her rib cage.

"I'm so sorry, Rach," Shelby says quickly. "I didn't know she was going to start talking about that."

"It's okay," Rachel forces out. She also forces her eyes back upwards to meet her mother's. "I… I think I'm going to go lay down for a while."

"Rach-"

"Not just because of that," she clarifies. It's not entirely a lie - she's needed a break and a moment of repose this whole time. Now, she has an excuse. "I'm just a little tired."

Shelby's face crinkles in worry. "Are you okay? Do you feel sick? Wh-"

"I'm fine," Rachel interrupts. "This isn't something we need to… I'm fine. I'm honestly just tired."

Her mother's piercing look of skepticism loses some of its power when her eyes flicker over to the TV. There, the 'Mother Knows Best' sequence has begun. Shelby swallows.

"Okay, honey, if you're sure you're okay," she sighs. "I'll come check on you in a while. I love you." She sends Rachel a gentle smile and kisses her forehead.

Through the fog of a million thoughts reverberating around her head, Rachel returns the smile and leaves.

Grief, guilt and pain toy with time with a callous unpredictability. Sometimes, the world grinds to a halt. Paralysing seconds drag and Rachel feels as though everyone else must have frozen. The world blinks and she sinks in a compressing bubble of breathless exhaustion. Her movements are heavy and exhausting, but she's moving and she's thinking and nobody else is doing anything. But sometimes it's the total opposite; she feels like she stops to take a breath, and everyone else has left her in the dust.

She stops and starts, juddering backwards and forwards through the motions like someone's trying to find the right beginning point on an old video. The rewinds hurt the most.

She's not sure how much she actually sleeps - she feels like she's dreaming most of the time now anyway. At some point, there's a muffled knock on her door, but her eyelids remain tightly sealed. Faces flitter through her mind like she's watching them from the window of a passing train: her dads, her mother, Maya, even.

For some reason, that's the one getting to her the most. She's all youthful ease and jovial familiarity - the ability to talk about a dead parent without feeling like the world is collapsing and time is rupturing.

Rachel's never felt more severed from that. She's fourteen but, with all this stopping and starting, a part of her feels like she's already lived a thousand lives.

She knows for certain that she's already awake the next time she hears movement outside the door. Her fingers are on her face, working to wipe away the tiny traces of tears dribbling out from her still shut eyes.

"Knock, knock," a man's voice calls from the hallway.

Quickly, she blinks a few times, sits up, and makes sure any redness in her eyes can be attributed to semi-conscious bleariness. "Come in," she replies.

Luke gently pushes the door open and steps inside. He leans up against the door and smiles at her. "Morning."

Rachel rolls her eyes and swings herself down off the bed. "You could have actually just knocked, you know."

"Where's the fun in that?" he grins. "Plus, this way you knew it was me."

She uses the motion of pulling a sweatshirt on to collect herself, allowing her face to naturally contort in anguish for just a moment before her head pokes back out into reality.

"Did she send you up to check on me?"

Luke raises his eyebrows. "No comment."

"I'm not mad at her," she tells him, sighing through the guilt bubbling up. She's aware that her erratic behaviour and internal turbulence doesn't just affect her nowadays. "I - I just…"

"I know," he says kindly, and hands her the glass of water he's holding. "Here."

Rachel pushes down the urge to cry as she takes a long sip. She's not sure whether knowing if Shelby had told him to bring it up would make it hurt more or less.

"How was Columbus?" she asks after a moment.

"Boring," he groans. "I had to pick up some papers to grade. But I think I'm going to start training you up so that you can do it for me."

Rachel smirks. "Gotta earn my keep somehow."

"That's right," Luke laughs. "_Or_, you could earn it by coming to help me cook dinner?" When Rachel looks unsure, he adds, "Come on! It's taco night - it'll be fun, I promise."

0

Though she can occasionally feel his wary eyes watching her, Luke grants Rachel's request to be in charge of chopping vegetables. Her daddy had always told her that knife skills were the most impressive thing to master in the kitchen. He used to place one hand over her own as they chopped together. She can feel its absence now, but there's a tiny part of her that hopes he would be impressed if he could see how efficiently she's de-pithing the bell peppers.

And she's proud of herself for even acknowledging that.

"Looking good," Luke nods at her as he passes to collect some paprika for the tofu marinade.

She smiles shyly back at him. "Thanks."

She still can't quite bring herself to elaborate, to tell him how she learned these skills, but she appreciates it all the same. Again, she wonders whether she'll ever reach that point; it still feels like such a far-off goal. And like there's a million mountains to climb or tightropes to traverse before she gets there.

"Luke?" she says.

"Mmm?"

She takes a deep breath and fixes her stare on her cutting board. "Um… Had she… Did- did you know about me before all of this?"

Even without looking up, Rachel can hear him stilling his movements. Then, he moves to stand next to her at the countertop. "Yeah, I did," he replies carefully. "Shelby told me about you pretty early on."

"Oh."

Rachel's not sure whether that's what she wanted to hear, or not. Maybe Shelby was more like Maya - maybe it was easy for her to talk about everything.

"She didn't… It wasn't in a casual way, Rach," Luke explains, almost as if he can read her mind. "But, yes. We'd spoken about you."

"Okay," she says. She lines her knife up with the pepper, but her hands have begun to shake and the slices she produces are slightly uneven. "So… do you think it…? Did she… miss me?" she completes in a whisper, her cheeks flushing.

"Rachel," Luke says, so emphatically that she can't help but to look up at him, "I know she missed you everyday."

"R-really?"

"Really," he confirms. He smiles sadly at her. "That kind of thing, any pain of that magnitude, it never leaves you, I don't think. You just," he pauses and tilts his head in thought, "you just learn to cope with it. It takes time, and adjustment, but you do."

There's a look in his eyes that tells Rachel he knows what happened before with Maya. But she can't get into that now. She can't because she's already pressing down too many feelings inside of her, so, instead, she forces a slight smile and nods. She doesn't have to reach as far to pull the smile out as she sometimes does.

There are some things she knows she won't ever be able to speak about, but if her mother could live through and with grief and guilt, maybe she can too.

"Hey," Shelby says a few minutes later when she enters the kitchen. She walks over to the counter where Rachel is now slicing tomatoes and leans against it next to her. Rachel shoots her a mock-glare when she steals some tomato off the board. "Don't look at me like that while you're holding a knife."

"Don't steal my ingredients, then."

Shelby sticks her tongue out and quickly grabs another slice of tomato. "How are you feeling, baby?" she asks.

Rachel's hit with another wave of emotion; it's love and guilt and gratitude all at once. She can't quite make sense of it, but she leans into her mother's side a little. Shelby stills for a moment in what Rachel assumes must be surprise - she never usually initiates contact, - but returns the gesture by wrapping an arm around the girl and kissing the side of her head.

"I feel better," Rachel nods. "I slept for a while."

"I know," Shelby says. "I came to check on you."

"Thanks," Rachel smiles shyly.

Clattering footsteps sound as Maya bursts into the kitchen and runs up to Luke by the stove.

"Uncle Luke, look!" she squeals, thrusting a colourful sheet of paper into his chest.

"Oh, that's so pretty, bug," he says. He holds it up to the lights and tilts is from side-to-side, frowning slightly. "I love it. It's so… What is it?"

Maya gives an exasperated sigh. "It's me and you and Aunt Shelby and Rachel and Mom and Dex."

Rachel looks up when she hears her name, a small smile crossing her lips at her inclusion. Shelby grins back at her and winks.

"Um- I don't think Dexter's arm is actually hanging off, bug," Luke says. He squints down at the drawing and Shelby clears her throat pointedly. Quickly, he plasters on a smile and pulls his niece into a tight hug. "But I love it a lot. Thank you."

Rachel returns to her chopping when Shelby moves to pin the drawing up on the fridge. The tiny grin won't leave her face.

"What's that smell?" Shelby asks a moment later.

For a second, they all peer around the kitchen in confusion, sniffing deeply, until Luke turns back to the stove where there's a suspicious cloud of smoke rising up from the sizzling vegetables.

"Oh, fu-_dge_," he says, glaring at Shelby when she swats his arm. He lifts the pan off the heat and then points towards the door. "Okay, bug, Shelbs, both of you out."

"What did we do?" Shelby asks, mouth agape in offence.

"You're distracting us," Luke replies. He turns to Rachel for support and she shrugs back at her mother.

"Fine," the woman pouts. "Come on, bug. We know when we're not wanted."

Luke has Rachel chop the lettuce next. He's talking to her about places he wants to take her in Columbus at some point and shows he knows are going to be touring there over the next few months. She lets her knife slice through the leaves and her insecurities. When she's here, in the midst of such normality, it feels okay to let herself make plans.

When the food is almost ready, she heads down into the basement to let her mother and Maya know. She lingers outside the door to the music room for a moment.

She hasn't been inside there much since her first day here, and she can hear laughing and the tinkling of piano keys. Doing her best to leave memories of playing piano for her dads out in the hallway, she knocks and slips inside the room.

Shelby's sitting on the stool and has Maya on her lap, her arms wrapped around her sides so that she can reach the piano. They both look up at Rachel.

"Dinner's going to be ready in a minute," she tells them. After receiving a nod, she turns to leave, but stops when Maya calls her name.

"Can you play piano too?" the girl asks.

"Uh…" Rachel hesitates. She's not sure whether she's in much of a piano playing mood, and she doesn't want to act as some kind of dark cloud ruining the moment. "Not much."

Shelby shakes her head. "Yeah, you can. You were great when we played before!"

"Oh… I…" Rachel starts, blushing once more. Her protests fall on small, deaf ears; Maya has already leapt up, crossed over to her, and began to drag her over to the instrument.

"Do you know any Disney?" she asks with wide eyes.

"Oh- well, just a bit," Rachel replies.

She shrugs at Shelby who shuffles off the stool so that she can sit. She takes a breath and allows herself to fall into the role of the performer - it's one she knows well, and now she actually has a reason to inhabit it. And, judging by the look on Maya's face, she also has a willing audience.

She grins. "You want me to sing too?"

Luke's head pops around the door just as her mini rendition of 'Part of Your World' finishes. Maya immediately claps and then runs over to tell Luke all about it. Rachel sits back on the stool, a tiny frown appearing on her face; when she'd started to play, she hadn't realised just how fitting the song would be. She's not sure she would trade her voice, but she would definitely trade _something _for the chance to belong.

A hand on her shoulder grounds her back in reality, and she looks up to see Shelby smiling down at her, eyes glistening.

"You really are incredible, Rach."

Rachel ducks her head, but manages a smile back. "Thanks."

She allows her mother to help her up so that they can follow Luke and Maya back upstairs to eat.

"You said you used to take piano lessons, right?" Shelby asks as they climb the stairs. Rachel nods. "Would you ever want to do that again?"

"You'd let me?"

"Of course," Shelby nods. "We'd have to fit it in around VA rehearsals, but if it's something you're interested in…?"

Rachel nods happily, before thinking for a moment. She _would_ like to continue piano but… "Shelby?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think… Maybe um, instead of piano, could I maybe go back to taking dance classes instead?" she rushes out before she can overthink it.

"Dance classes?" Shelby asks. They come to a stop at the door into the kitchen. "Sure, I mean you can do both if you want? Did you take those before too?"

"Yeah, and I still did when I lived with Grandma for a while…" She pauses. "But, well, they were kind of expensive and I wasn't allowed most of the money my dads… The money that they left for me. B-but you have it now, right? So I can use it? Just for dance classes and-"

"Woah, Rach, wait," Shelby interrupts, laying a hand on the girl's shoulder. "I'm not going to ask you to pay for your own dance classes, or piano lessons, or whatever. If there's something like that which you're interested in, then I'll pay for it."

"Bu-"

"Rachel," she says firmly. "I'm your mom. I want to encourage the things you're passionate about. Let me take care of it."

And Rachel can't argue with the tone of loving insistence, so she just nods gratefully. "Thank you."

Shelby squeezes her shoulder fondly. "You're very welcome."

000

Later that evening, Shelby's leaning up against the doorframe in the guest room, watching as Luke finishes tucking Maya into bed. Anna had called earlier to say that they were still waiting at the hospital and they'd both assured her that Maya was perfectly okay to stay overnight.

The smile playing on her lips doesn't make it all the way up to her eyes. Maya takes all of Luke's goodnight wishes easily and tugs her pink blanket up to rest under her chin; she'd done the same with Shelby just a moment ago, too. It's a marked difference from the way Rachel had seemed almost embarrassed to be kissed on the head and instructed to have sweet dreams when she'd headed to bed a few minutes earlier.

She turns away from the idyllic scene before her with a sigh and heads back to her bedroom. As always these days, her steps are heavy with a muted ache: it's regret and frustration that gnaws through her all the way to the bone. Still, she reminds herself as she begins to get ready for bed, she'll keep going and eventually things will figure themselves out.

One day, Rachel won't think twice about asking her to pay for dance classes. The subject of her dads won't trigger feelings so insurmountable that they provoke some kind of mid-afternoon swooning fit. Singing at the piano or impromptu hugs will be routine - they won't feel like gasps of air sucked in through drowning lungs.

She's silently repeating these assurances to herself as she brushes her teeth when Luke comes into the bathroom. He envelopes her in a hug from behind and their eyes meet in the mirror's reflection.

"We have a sleepy bug tonight," he says, resting his head down on her shoulder. "But she did manage to tell me that you have to make her pancakes tomorrow morning."

Shelby scoffs. "Oh so _now_ my cooking's good enough for her. Earlier it was all, 'Where are the Uncle Luke leftovers?'"

"Can you blame her? My cooking is great." She pulls a face at him in the mirror. "_But_ you know she's always had a soft spot for your attempts at cooking."

"I'll show you 'attempts at'," Shelby growls, lifting her leg to kick his shin. Once she's finished rinsing her mouth out, however, she turns and pecks his lips. "You're so good with her. And with Rachel, actually. Thank you for getting her out of her room earlier."

"She didn't take that much convincing, honestly."

Guilt throbs all over her body. "It was more than I could do."

"Shelbs-"

She quickly shakes her head. "Do you want to watch a movie, or something?"

"Uh- sure," he says. She ignores how he frowns at her change of subject.

"Perfect. You get ready, I'm going to go look in on Rach. I'll check Maya's actually still in bed, too."

"Okay," he replies, reaching for his toothbrush. She nods and goes to leave the room, stopping when he grabs her hand. "Don't overthink this. You're doing great and I love you."

"Luke," she sighs.

He shrugs and raises his eyebrows. "You know I don't lie, and remember - everything I know about this, I learned from you."

She allows herself a tiny smile. "You don't lie _anymore_," she corrects, before leaving the room and heading towards her daughter's bedroom.

As she creaks open the door and watches Rachel breathing deeply under the covers, she works to remind herself of the veracity of his words.

_July 2013, Columbus. _

Shelby's lying upside down on the couch in her brother's living room, her back against the seat and her legs hooked over the top. There's an ice pack tucked into the back of her denim shorts and a heated pad tucked in the front. She's not sure which of these, if either, is doing anything to ease the stabbing cramps engulfing her lower stomach, but she can't see the harm in taking her chances either way.

She glances at the digital clock on the DVD player; the uncompromising red lights tell her that only two minutes have passed since the last time she checked. It's still not long enough for her latest round of painkillers to have fully taken effect. Fighting to repress a grunt of annoyance, she instead forces her attention back onto the TV. Some documentary about the evolutionary development of sharks is playing but even with the subtitles on, she's struggling to follow. It's not just the pain that's bothering her.

She's also bored.

Like incredibly, really, truly _bored_.

Her brother and his wife left for their twilight shifts at the hospital a little while ago. They've been working them all week and so, most days, Shelby has found herself aimlessly wandering the apartment, trying to make as little noise as possible so as not to disturb their sleep. The majority of her evenings have been spent in a similar vein to this one - staring at the TV and trying not to let herself think too much about her current predicament. But she's had enough of it.

New York, for all its faults, had been a whirlwind. Events there cascaded into each other like falling dominos, and, for better or for worse, she feels like her feet haven't properly touched the ground for years. At first, spending the summer months in her brother's guest room in the Columbus suburbs felt like a promise of fresh air. After just a week in the attic conversion, she's feeling more stifled than ever.

When the presenter of the documentary begins to discuss the intricacies in the bone structure of hammerhead sharks' faces, she immediately reaches under her head for her phone. There's _got_ to be more to life than this. She scrolls through her contacts, trying to decide who she can call this time; in the past week, she's taken to playing catch up with friends she hasn't spoken to properly for years. None of them need to know that she's grasping at straws to remind herself what human connection feels like.

As it's done several times already this week, her thumb hesitantly lingers over the newest contact in her address book. After he'd put it in, she'd smiled placidly, thinking that she would probably never use it. Desperation, however, has reared its ugly head.

Or that, at least, is what she tells herself.

**iMessage**

**Thursday, 12th July**

**6:48 p.m.**

**_Shelby: _**_Hi- it's Shelby from… Well, from all the places. You can totally say no, but if you're not doing anything tonight, do you maybe want to watch a movie or something?_

She almost adds that she has a free house, but stops herself from full descent into the emotional state of a high schooler with a crush. The Shelby who can bend men to her will like moths to a flame apparently decided to stay in New York. Before she can even replace the device back under her head and return her focus to the shark historians, it starts to vibrate with an incoming call.

Her jaw locks in a grimace. Anyone who returns an opening text with a phone call is _not_ someone she's going to get on with. She places it on her chest and allows the call to ring out.

Not even a minute passes before her phone vibrates again. She lowers her chin to her chest and gives it a withering stare. _Really?_ She'd thought he'd seemed pretty normal. But, then again, when have her assessments of men ever been one of her more trustworthy skills?

Still, she can't quite bring herself to ignore it a second time. She should just check that he's okay, right?

"Hello?"

Her ear is immediately overwhelmed by the sound of a child's screams and, flinching for more reasons than one, she jerks the phone away from her head a little. There's some scuffling, another piercing shriek and a male voice trying to speak calmly.

"Hi?" she tries again, figuring that maybe it's more butt dial than booty call. "Luke?"

After another bout of white noise, his breathless voice comes back over the speaker to her, "Shelby? Hi. Thanks for picking up - I know it's really weird for me to be calling."

A small smile plays on her lips; she knew her judgement couldn't have been that off.

"Most especially when you seem to be right in the middle of your nightly child torture session."

"Yeah, exactl- Bug, no - no, you can't eat that," he says despondently. "Sorry. Hey, do you happen to know anything about kids?"

"Not much about causing them extreme pain."

"Har har," he deadpans. "But about general caretaking?"

"Sure," she says, swinging her legs down and pushing herself up so that she's lying against the arm rest. "I know a little. What's going on?"

"My niece," Luke replies quickly. "My brother wasn't feeling good so Anna wanted to stay at the hospital with him and she asked whether I could watch her. And I thought, 'Sure? How hard can it be to watch a toddler for the evening?' Yeah, turns out it's pretty fucking hard."

"Okay, well lesson number one is don't say 'fuck' in front of them," Shelby says, wincing a little when the girl begins to howl again. "And lesson number two is stop whatever it is that you're doing because she doesn't seem to be enjoying it too much."

"Oh- so I just let her eat the plastic car, do I?" he counters. "Sorry- hang on. Bug, this is _not_ food. I made you food and you didn't want to eat it. You can't eat that."

Shelby smirks at the slightly high-pitched voice he's putting on. She stands from the couch and pulls out both relief packs from her shorts. "Would you like some help, Luke?" she asks in her most condescending voice.

"I will literally pay you for it."

"Oh, sure," she laughs, "I'll send my rates over now."

"Are they competitive?"

"Eh- more on the luxury side of things."

"Whatever- I'll take it," he says before, once again, attempting to soothe the girl in soft tones.

Shelby squeezes her phone between her shoulder and cheek while she leans down to put her shoes on. "Text me your address and I'll be right over."

"You're an angel."

"I know." She grabs the spare key off the hook and steps out onto the porch, locking the door behind her. "Oh- and Luke?"

"Mm?"

"How old is she?" she asks as she walks down the front path towards the rack where her brother's old bike is standing.

"She just turned two."

The whole way over, Shelby has been debating whether this is a good idea. There's an ache in her gut that's wholly different from the cramps; it started when the flood of memories knocked her down at those words, pounding her on all sides with regret and insecurity and sadness. But, when the door of the third-floor apartment swings open to reveal Luke holding a screaming baby around her middle in one hand, and a rag up to his bleeding nose in the other, she knows she's made the right call.

"Oh, dear God."

"Shelby, thank fuck," Luke mutters, his voice thick from the hand clamped over his nose. "Come in."

She shakes her head as she follows him inside the apartment, her eyes instantly widening at the sight that befalls her. Various plastic and soft toys, pink blankets, and sippy cups are strewn all over the living room. From the doorway, she can just about see through to the small kitchen where most of the floor is covered in some kind of red sauce. Or, she glances again at Luke, maybe it's blood.

"I see you've forgotten lesson one already," she says, raising an eyebrow. "Although somehow I don't think that's our biggest problem."

"Me, either," he agrees. "I tried to take the car off her and she hit me right in the face with it. Accidentally, I think. Actually- I don't even know. Can you-?"

He holds the girl out to her, and, instinctively, Shelby grasps a hold of her and shifts her in her arms until she's sat on her hip. She feels her breath catch in her throat at the familiar placement of weight. While one hand subconsciously begins to rub soothing circles on the toddler's back, her hips create a rocking rhythm up and down. Her body is doing what it remembers; her brain is screaming that this is the first baby she's held since she was nineteen. It's something she's been actively avoiding for nearly six years.

Feeling Luke's eyes on her, she forces a reassuring smile up at him. "I got her. You go fix your face."

"An _angel_," he repeats, blowing her a kiss as he goes to dart out of the room. "Be right back, bug!"

She swallows and looks down at the small girl. She's all cheeks flushed from screaming and dark hair and big, brown eyes. _But she's not Rachel_, Shelby reminds herself. _She's…_

"Wait- Luke!" she calls out. "What's her name?"

But the door to what she can only presume is the bathroom has already shut behind him - she's alone with a crying baby. _Alone_ \- so why does she feel so self-conscious?

Shelby takes a deep breath, blows it out through pursed lips, and pulls herself together. She can do this. It's nothing more than watching a toddler for a few minutes. She pushes the front door closed and draws the bolt across, all while maintaining her bobbing rhythm.

"Shh, it's okay," she soothes, leaning her face down to the little girl's. "You're okay, sweetheart."

"Unc'Uke?" the girl whimpers. Her bottom lip trembles as she looks up at Shelby with big, watery eyes.

"It's okay," Shelby tells her with a soft smile. "Uncle Luke's got a boo boo on his nose so he's gone to fix it."

"O-owie?"

"Yeah, a little bit," she says, melting at the girl's concerned expression. "He'll be right back, okay?" The girl clings to her a little tighter and Shelby responds by rubbing her back again. "My name's Shelby. Can you tell me your name?"

The girl shakes her head, short, dark hair rubbing into Shelby's t-shirt. "'U-uke," she grizzles again.

"I know, sweetheart," Shelby says. "He's coming right back, I promise. But how about you and I do something fun while we wait for him?"

"Owie," she repeats firmly. This time, there's no question behind it.

"Are you hurt?" Shelby asks. When she receives a small nod and another whimper, she puckers her bottom lip in sympathy. "Can you show me where your owie is?"

The girl looks at her curiously for a moment before shaking her head. "I w-want Mama."

"I know," Shelby replies softly, trying to ignore the sharp tug on her heart. "Mama's gone to see your daddy, but she'll be back soon."

"_Mama_," the girl sobs.

Sensing that another meltdown is looming on the horizon, Shelby changes tactics. She lowers the girl to her feet and kneels down in front of her.

"Hey, uh-" _What had Luke called her? _"Hey, bug?" she tries, smiling when the girl looks back at her. "You know what? Mama told me exactly how to fix your owies." The girl frowns in suspicion. "Can you show me where your owie is so I can fix it?"

The girl continues to look unsure for a moment, but eventually hovers one hand over her crotch and whispers, "Owie here."

Shelby's eyes widen in alarm and her head swings towards the still-closed door of the bathroom. Surely Luke wouldn't have… _Couldn't_ have… Why would he ask her to come over here if he…? Maybe it's not what she's thinking. Maybe he just swatted her butt, or something? Still, she can't help but wish she hadn't been so hasty in bolting the front door shut.

She turns back to the girl with as soft a face as she can muster. "Can you show me, bug? I promise to make the owie go away."

The girl nods and takes Shelby's hand, tugging her across to the kitchen. Shelby takes in the stained floor, pots and pans covering the countertops and the tomato pasta littering the small dining table. She's brought, however, over to one of the clearer spaces of table where the girl points at a pink diaper bag.

"Owie," she repeats.

"Okay, sweetheart. Can I get you changed so I can have a look?"

Receiving another small nod, Shelby lays what she hopes is a clean dish towel down on the table, lifts the toddler up onto it and guides her down. She makes quick work of unbuttoning the spotted romper and, when she pulls it off, lets out a huge sigh of relief.

Luke's not a pedophile. He's not even someone who lost his temper with a just-turned-two-year-old. He's simply an idiot.

Shelby soothes the little girl as she removes the backwards, twisted-up diaper from around her legs and rubs away the marks left by the adhesive tabs on her skin. Getting the confirmation that the "Owie all gone," she puts a fresh diaper on the girl, and throws the tangled one into the trash can alongside her half-constructed escape plans. She's not sure how fast she could have biked away while balancing a toddler on her lap, anyway. Then, she changes her into the clean pajamas from the diaper bag. These have the advantage of not being decorated by tiny spatters of Luke's blood.

Her next port of call is to distract the girl from wailing for her mother or uncle. She finds her solution in the toy cars scattered over the living room floor. The girl takes great pleasure in identifying the varying colours for Shelby. The woman digs her fingernails into her bare calfs until she forgets that Rachel used to do the same thing with the keys on her xylophone.

"And what colour is this one, bug?"

"B'ue!"

"You are _so_ smart!" Shelby praises, holding up her hand for yet another high-five.

"And who," a voice calls from the other side of the room, "is the very best uncle in the whole wide world who got you these cars?"

"'Uke!" the girl shouts excitedly. With an assisting hand from Shelby, she clambers to her feet and scuttles across the room, reaching her arms up to Luke. He obliges and lifts her easily, but pulls her exploring hands away from the strands of red tissue peeking out of his nose.

"Hey, bug," he smiles. "You feeling a bit better now? Did Shelby take good care of you?"

"Shebby fix owie," the girl tells him, pointing back at the woman.

"You got hurt?" Luke looks over to Shelby with a frown of concern. "What happened, bug?"

"Not my fault," Shelby says dryly, raising her hands in defence. She fixes him with a pointed look. "Kind of the exact opposite of my fault."

"Me?" he asks. "What did I do?"

She waits until he sits on the floor opposite her with the girl in his lap before she quirks an eyebrow. "Not very experienced with putting on diapers, are you?"

"Huh?"

"Oh, fuck," is his muttered reaction to her explanation of everything that went down while he was in bathroom. Dark eyes shining with guilt look up at the girl who is now contently rolling a car over the rug.

"Yeah," Shelby agrees in a similarly low-tone. "That was pretty much my exact thought when I thought you were a sick-in-the-head baby predator, too."

"What?" he laughs, mouth agape.

"Well she told me she had an owie _here -_" she gestures to her own crotch "- so you weren't exactly looking like uncle of the year."

"Oh my _God_… _No_…" Luke shakes his head. "No, I-"

"Relax," she says, rolling her eyes. "Turns out you're not evil, you're just a little bit stupid. Congratulations." His slight pout only encourages her. "Didn't you say you just finished grad school at Columbia? So, you can get an Ivy League master's degree, but you can't put a diaper on your niece? That's actually kind of impressive… Oh- and by the way, she wouldn't tell me her name."

"Oh, sorry," Luke says, ignoring her goading. "It's Maya. She gets a little shy sometimes - was she okay?"

"She was fine," she assures him, before grinning slyly again. "We really bonded over how dumb you were while I fixed her diaper and got her out of the bloodstained clothes."

"Thank you. I told you I have no fucking clue what I'm doing."

"Funnily enough, I don't doubt it." She moves her gaze away from Maya's game and peers at him, smirking at the scraps of tissue and congealed blood still hanging around his nostrils. "Do I need to fix your owie too?"

"It's fine," Luke says, pinching the tissue a little further up his nose. "I just about got it to stop."

"By plugging it?" She shakes her head at him. "You do know that the best way to stop a nosebleed is to just pinch it, right?" When he shoots her a bewildered look, she rocks up onto her knees and leans forward to take his chin in one hand. With the other, she gently eases the reddened clumps of paper out and presses them into his palm. Then, she licks her thumb and uses it to wipe away any remaining blood. "There. Sorry, I just couldn't take you seriously looking like that. You're fine once the blood's clotted, and now you look a little less like Frankenstein."

"Frankenstein's monster," he corrects, scrunching his nose up in a way that distinctly reminds her of a hamster.

She narrows her eyes at him, but shrugs her defeat on this one. "Whatever. Dracula, then. Bram Stoker's monster. Boom." She returns his rather impressed nod with a dramatic hair-flip. "Yeah - that's right. I can read, too. _And_, I can even change a diaper."

She probably could have been more subtle about things. She plays with Maya while Luke attempts to clean up the mess in his kitchen. Apparently, the girl hadn't been too impressed with his attempts at making penne alla vodka. Lesson number three, she soon teaches him, is not to serve toddlers dishes made using alcohol, even if it's supposed to have burned off. Shelby uses the leftover plain noodles to make Maya a quick dinner - pasta with a teaspoon of butter and some creamed corn she finds in the back of a cupboard. She advises that he warms up her bedtime bottle of milk, and sings softly to her until her eyes flutter closed in her travel crib. Then, she leaves Luke to say his goodnights.

She's doing the dishes in the sink when he reenters the kitchen.

"Thank you," he says, grabbing a dish towel and starting to dry the pots she's already cleaned. "But you really don't have to. Cleaning is actually within my realm of capabilities."

"I'll take your word for it."

She senses it's coming before the words even leave his mouth. Maybe it's from the questioning look in his eye that's been there for a while now, or maybe it's how he's watching her expertly clean inside the spout of Maya's sippy cup.

"You know a lot about kids," he says, and, despite her premonition, her heart skips a beat. "Did you do a lot of babysitting when you were younger?"

Shelby rinses off the last cup and places it upside down on the draining rack. "Something like that."

She can feel him watching her as she takes the towel out of his hands and dries her own off. She hangs it over the rail on the oven and takes a moment to bite down hard on her lip. There's a million feelings storming in her stomach and she can't quite believe that she's overcome them long enough to help take care of a baby - to maintain some kind of easy conversation with a man she barely knows.

The second part shouldn't come as a surprise; she's always been a little too good at that. It's really how she's spent so many years running from everything. She piled everything that she didn't want to think about into a closet in the back of her mind and slammed the door shut before it could all spill back out.

But now her body's caught up with itself and she's paying the price for it. It's only a matter of time before her mind does the same.

"Um… Shelby?" Luke says quietly. "Are you okay?"

She quickly blinks the tears out of her eyes and turns back to face him with a smile. "I'm fine," she says brightly. "Totally fine. Sorry."

She can tell that he doesn't believe her; his dark eyebrows are furrowed and his thoughtful gaze is boring into her. It's not in an aggressive way, though. That's what makes it so much harder to brush off.

And it's not like she's really going to see him again. After her surgery, she'll recover at Taylor's and then head back to the city, or maybe somewhere completely new. She isn't sure of much yet, but she knows she's not going to stay here.

"I had a daughter," she tells him. Her voice is surprisingly strong, but it doesn't even feel like it's hers.

Luke's face falls. "Oh, God. Shelby, I'm _so_ sorry."

"What?" She tilts her head in confusion until she finally catches on to his mistake. "Oh- no, _no. _Not like that. She's not- she's not dead. God, no. I just… I don't see her. Anymore. She was adopted, and… Yeah."

"Oh, thank God," he's muttered at some point in her stuttered rambling, one hand clapping against his chest. When she's done, he reaches out and gently squeezes her arm. "Well, I'm still sorry."

"Yeah. I am, too," Shelby sighs. Her eyes fall to where their bodies are joined. He's so close to her that she can smell his aftershave and see the tiny freckles on his cheeks. For the first time in a long time, this kind of proximity tingles in her stomach. And she doesn't like that. "Maybe I should get going?"

"Uh, sure," he says, quickly pulling his hand away like he'd almost forgotten it was there. "If you want to. Or…"

"Or?" she finds herself asking.

"Or, I could order us some food and we could watch that movie?"

When the pizza arrives, they take it out onto the terrace with a few bottles of beer and the baby monitor. They sit on the floor, backs up against the sliding doors, and he describes his master's thesis about Marxist influences on postcolonial identities to her. When he asks what she does, she tells him that she's a failed actress. It's only once the words are out of her mouth that she realises she won't be going back to New York.

After they've eaten, he produces a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket and presses a finger to his lips. "Don't tell Maya." With a roll of her eyes, she mirrors the gesture. He smirks and extends the box to her. "Want one?"

She won't be singing properly for a while, if ever again, and so she shrugs and helps herself.

"Don't judge," Luke says as he blows out a long stream of smoke. It hangs around them in the thick evening air. "It's the last thing left on my list to cut out."

"Oh, yeah?" she asks, leaning over to tap some ash off on the metal railing. "What was the first?"

Luke's silent for a moment, not immediately replying until she turns back to face him. "Methamphetamine."

She snorts and lets out a loud laugh. When Luke only matches this with a raised eyebrow, her jaw drops. "Oh- _fuck_. Shit - Luke, I… Sorry, I thought you were kidding."

"I wish," he replies dryly.

"Wow… _Fuck…_I'm sorry - I…"

"It's okay," he says after she fails to string anything more coherent together. "You don't have to say anything. Sorry… What can you say about a meth problem, right? But I don't lie… _Anymore_. Not after… And I just thought- well, you told me about your daughter…"

"Right," Shelby says, meeting his eye with a nod. "No, I get it. An eye for an eye."

He smirks. "I mean that's not really the Biblical context, but sure. An eye for an eye."

In a month, once he's become her self-appointed physical therapist, they'll stop for a break during their run by the river. They'll discover they attended the same Upstate rehab facility and he'll tell her that he's starting to believe in fate. She'll scoff and continue to mock him about this for the rest of the day. Inside, she'll start to believe it too.

Because Luke hasn't got around to setting up his wifi yet, that night they watch the only movie he has saved on his laptop, _The Jungle Book. _Shelby complains about the continuity errors in animation while he spouts out trivia about the film's production and source material. When she points out how annoying that is, he sends her a pointed look.

"It's equally annoying when you complain about everything that's happening onscreen."

She mock-glares at him. "An eye for an eye?"

"Deal."

After the end-credits roll and he assures her that he'll be able to handle Maya if she wakes up before her mom arrives to collect her, he walks the short distance over to the door with her.

"You're going to be cold biking home like that," he says casually, fixing the hallway with an evaluating look as though it could tell him anything about the weather.

"I think I'll survive."

As she goes to unbolt the door, his question tumbles out, "In a purely platonic way, you can stay over if you want?"

"'Purely platonic?'" she smirks, stilling her motions.

She swears he blushes a little. "Semi-platonic?"

"Luke, I…"

She looks up at him and, for a moment, she knows exactly how this could go down. She'd stay the night, with all that that entails. Within three days, most of her things would be inside the apartment. They'd take walks around the neighbourhood and spend way too much money on takeout that would mainly go cold in the bag. They'd have too much sex and blow off any and all responsibilities. They'd form an unhealthy attachment to each other and a specific type of drug, and ignore everything else. Eventually someone - probably him, - would want to have the conversation about 'what they are' and 'what they're doing'. She'd start a petty argument as an excuse to leave. That would be that and the whole thing would be chalked up to a month-long fever dream.

But he's in town to support his dying brother and she's there for a subtotal hysterectomy. Besides, she's lived out that pattern one too many times; she's not sure whether she has the strength to do it again.

"I should go," she says eventually, smiling a little at the way he deflates, but tries to conceal it. "But maybe we can hang out again sometime?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I think I'd like to."

_Present_

After checking that Maya is also sleeping soundly, Shelby heads back to the bedroom. Luke's sat up against the headboard with her laptop open.

"Okay," he says, patting the spot next to him on the bed so that she can climb up next to him. "We're watching _The Wicker Man_ because we haven't done Nicolas Cage trivia for a while, and there's plenty for you to complain about."

"Perfect," she replies. She smirks as she curls up into his body. "Lots of eyes for lots of eyes."

"All of the eyes." He leans over to dim the lamp on the end table and then wraps an arm tightly around her. "Ready?"

"Ready," she confirms, before lifting her head to kiss him deeply. "I really love you."

He grins down at her. "I really love you, too."

000

Rachel's whole body is burning with the strain of keeping her hands locked around the tightrope. The friction of it is rubbing her palms raw, but she's hoping with every fibre of her being that, if she can maintain her grip for just a moment longer, her mother will eventually stop looking at her with that venomous glare and lean down to help her up.

"Mommy!" she tries desperately. "Please, Mommy, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!"

Her pleas are useless. Shelby shakes her head coldly and turns to walk away. Rachel's not sure which hurts more: the pain ripping through all of her muscles, or the scorching feeling of her heart crumbling in her chest. She's doing everything she can to hold on, to swing herself up onto the safety of the pedestal, but then Shelby lifts her foot, stamps it hard onto the ground, and Rachel tumbles down into nothingness with a loud bang.

She jolts upright in bed with trickles of sweat pouring down her forehead and her whole body shaking. Instinctively, she checks over her palms for signs of rope burn, but the only marks there and small indentations from where her fingernails have clenched into her skin.

Swallowing through the painful dryness in her mouth and throat, she reaches across to her nightstand to find her water glass. As soon as she lifts it, she can immediately tell that it's empty, and, sighing, she slowly drags herself from her bed to go and fill it up.

"It's just a dream," she murmurs to herself as she pads down the hallway to the bathroom. "It's just a dream, it's just a dream, it's just a dream."

_For now, _every horrible thought in the back of her head screams at her.

She ignores it, uses the bathroom and fills her glass. She keeps her eyes fixed on the sink to avoid catching a glimpse of her gaunt reflection; she'll deal with the physical signs of her exhaustion in the morning.

It's when she's on her way back to her bedroom, that, over her continued muttering, she hears a soft whimper coming from the guest room at the end of the hallway. She stops for a moment, deliberating over her options. All she really wants to do is return to the safety of her bed, pull the covers all the way over herself and try to sleep again. When she hears another tiny cry, however, she finds herself passing the door to her room.

She presses her ear up against the wood of the guest room door and gently pushes it open.

"Maya?" she whispers into the darkness. She blinks a few times to allow her eyes to adjust. From the streetlight peeking in through the gaps in the curtains, she can just about make out a tiny figure curled up on the floor. "Maya, what's wrong?"

The little girl turns to her and Rachel can spot the wetness shining in her eyes. Throwing a quick glance back over her shoulder, she steps properly into the bedroom, shuts the door behind her and flicks on the light switch.

Maya has her knees pulled up to her chest and is clutching at her left elbow. Her bottom lip trembles as she looks back up at Rachel.

"I fell and got hurt," she whimpers, twisting her arm around so that Rachel can see the graze there.

"What happened?" Rachel repeats. She walks over to the girl and kneels down in front of her. "Do you want me to go get Luke for you?" She swallows. "Or Shelby?"

Maya shakes her head adamantly. "No! Don't tell! I couldn't sleep so I was practicing for dance class and I fell, but don't tell."

"Okay, okay," Rachel says quickly before she can get even more worked up. "I won't tell, I promise."

Maya sends her a small, watery smile before sniffling again. "Rachel, it _hurts_."

"Can I?" the older girl asks, taking a hold of her arm.

She frowns as she looks down at the injury; it doesn't appear too big or worrying, but she can attest to how sore friction wounds can be. Kind of. She wracks her brain for any first aid skills she has and tries to give Maya a reassuring look. She's never been particularly good with kids, but, like always, she'll do her best at performing a new role.

"It's okay," she says when Maya sniffles again. "Um… I think there's a first aid kit in the bathroom? Stay here, okay? I'll be right back."

She pads back along the hallway as quietly as she can; she's not exactly sure whether she's doing the right thing in not going to get Luke or Shelby, and she really doesn't want to make either of them mad if they wake up. Keeping one eye on the door to the bathroom as she searches, she finds the plastic box with relative ease, and, as soon as she's back in the guest room with it, she lets out a little sigh of relief.

"Okay," she says, putting on her best 'it's all going to be fine voice', "I think we just need to clean it and put a band-aid on."

"They hurt worse," Maya says, eyeing the antiseptic wipes suspiciously.

"I know," Rachel sympathises, "but we just need to clean it really quick." She pulls one out and has Maya lay her arm out. "Super quick, I promise."

Maya hisses when it makes contact with her raw skin, but relaxes a little when Rachel starts to hum a soft tune. "You're good at singing like Aunt Shelby."

Rachel does her best not to flinch too. "Oh, thank you."

"Rachel?"

"Yeah?"

"Why don't you call Aunt Shelby 'Mom'?" Maya asks. When Rachel pulls away, she twists her arm again to inspect the newly-cleaned spot.

Rachel bites down on her lip. "Um," she falters and Maya looks back up at her curiously. "Well," she says, taking a deep breath, "I suppose it's because I haven't really known her for that long and… I mean, I do sometimes, but this is all still rather new for me."

"Because you were living with your two dads before," Maya says with an understanding nod.

"Yeah, that's right," Rachel replies. She focuses on pulling the plastic wrapping off of the bandage to avoid having to look into observant big brown eyes.

"Why now?"

"Huh?"

She wishes that her hands wouldn't shake so much; it's really making the simple task a lot harder.

"Why are you living with Aunt Shelby and Uncle Luke now?" Maya asks.

"Oh- um…" Rachel fights to take a breath. She flicks her eyes up in an attempt to prevent tears from forming, before finally looking back at the girl. Innocent intrigue stares back at her. "My dads are in heaven, too," she eventually whispers.

Maya's face falls. She hesitates for a moment, brow knitted in thought, before using her uninjured arm to hug Rachel tightly. The older girl feels her body give a tiny shake as she unexpectedly melts into the touch.

"They're with my daddy," Maya says when she draws back. She reaches up to wipe away the tears from Rachel's cheeks. "Don't cry, Rachel. It's okay because now you're with your mom, and you have her and Uncle Luke. And that means you have me and my mom and also Dexter who you haven't met yet because he's got a broken arm, but you will meet him."

"Yeah," Rachel whispers, smiling a little at her kindness.

"And," Maya continues, "your dads are where my dad is." Like she had done earlier, she taps a finger against her chest. "So you can talk to them when you need to."

"Does it work?" Rachel finds herself asking. She knows she's being stupid for soliciting advice on grief from a kid, but she's also aware of how much more well-adjusted Maya is than her.

"Yeah, because you get to ask them things and then they'll tell you and you'll just know."

Later, after Rachel's patched up Maya's arm and made sure that she's safely back in bed, she leans back against her own pillows and stares up at her ceiling.

"Dad, Daddy," she breathes into the silent room. "I don't know where I'm going or what I'm doing. Can you help me?"

* * *

_**A/N- Thanks for reading! I hoped you enjoyed! **__**I know progress is kind of slow, but I promise I just have one more yikes thing to put Rachel through before ~the truth comes out~...**_

_**As always, I love love love and appreciate any and all reviews/thoughts. Will be updating once I hit 300 reviews :-)**_

_**And that one was most definitely a joke. Stay safe, stay well, stay happy! xo**_


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